


London 2012

by Sapphire_Princess



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 2012 Summer Olympics, M/M, Post Reichenbach, post-reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:30:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphire_Princess/pseuds/Sapphire_Princess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes is still dead to the rest of the world but John Watson is becoming used to his infrequent visits that started 5 weeks after the fall. Sherlock starts asking questions this time though, questions that surprise them both along the way and John realises that his attachment to his best friend is deeper than he thought.<br/>(Edited April 2016)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own BBC’s Sherlock or the original ACD stories. This has been written purely for entertainment value and no money has or will exchange hands. Original story lines to belong to me.
> 
> Authors Note: I do an awful lot of writing on trains. This is one of many things I’ve written on my journeys across the UK. The idea struck me when I realised 2 things, the first is that the news clip from John’s blog (16th June) can’t really be from this year as one of the presenters left in March. The other was it might be interesting to see what would have happened if John found out Sherlock wasn’t dead before he ‘came back’ for the rest of the world. The Olympics had just started when I decided to write this so I tied the three things together.
> 
> I don’t always ship Sherlock and John, I love them just as much as best friends as I do as lovers but my muse as well as my good friend **4theloveoftea** (Who is also my lovely beta) told me to go for it in this instance and here it is.

He had wanted to meet him at the airport but Mycroft had told him not to bother. With the build up to the Olympics he hadn’t been able to guarantee the usual security at the airport, protecting two likely targets at the same time was apparently too much of a risk combined with everything else he was currently overseeing.

So John sat at home - his new home - one which Mycroft in all his wisdom had forced upon him and paid for. 

John had been furious at first, not wanting anything to do with him after what had happened but Mycroft insisted and John had no way to really refuse. He didn’t want to stay in Baker street without Sherlock and despite Mrs Hudson’s kind words he wouldn’t have been able to afford to anyway.

It had been far easier to accept after he’d opened his new front door and found Sherlock sat on the new couch, coat spread out around him and fingers steepled beneath his chin. The first thing he had said since the phone call that ended shortly before a jump from the roof of St. Barts was to ask why John hadn’t just stayed at Baker Street, Mycroft was apparently paying the rent there as well. 

At that time 5 weeks had passed since the funeral and John had launched himself at Sherlock, knocking him to the floor and twisting his hands behind his back. But Sherlock had explained himself (mostly from his position on the floor) and John had listened as he felt his anger simmer down.  
Those in between weeks had been the worst and most heartbreaking he had ever lived through but Sherlock Holmes was alive and well and even a little bit sorry for the affect it had on John so it was the start of things becoming okay again.

That year Sherlock had visited several times, for never for more than a few days at a time but long enough to check in with John - he never stayed with anyone else. Mycroft had insisted the visits were as much for Sherlock’s benefit as John’s but he’d known that already and suspected that it had been Sherlock who hadn’t realised it.

He had his own key, Mycroft had doctored records and given Sherlock the identity of an old friend and subsequent pen pal from Norway called Sigerson - John had been more than impressed to the changes to his email history and life story. Sherlock had of course made terse and abusive remarks about his brother but John hardly cared. If Mycroft Holmes had sought to make amends by reuniting John with Sherlock then who was he to complain.

There was a small part of him that was still angry he had been left out of everything to start with. Sherlock had acted the way he had because of his plan, John now knew what the plan had been and who was involved and why he had to believe it… but Sherlock had said he hadn’t anticipated just how upset John had been and it had felt like a slap in the face. It was irrational and stupid. Sherlock had told him in no uncertain terms that John was his only friend and that he had needed him to believe he was dead…. so why couldn’t Sherlock understand how much it had hurt him?

His complete lack of emotional understanding and social skills - when it came to that - had been made abundantly clear to John over the years he had now known him and he knew that was probably the reason why. He’d also realised at some point over the last year that he should be grateful for it - for one thing that Sherlock Holmes didn’t understand and he did.

 

John heard the key turn in the lock but forced himself to stay where he was, years of military training made this possible even if it wasn’t easy. He even managed to look calm. He didn’t know why he bothered, Sherlock would know the instant he looked at him that it was all a facade but willingly showing his emotions was not something John was currently prepared to do.

The door closed and locked almost as quickly as it was opened and a tall blonde figure appeared in the doorway. His disguise was brilliant - so much so that John had to remind himself who was underneath every time he saw it. Sherlock looked for all the world like a Scandinavian native, blonde windswept hair, clothes and even eyes that looked as though they were a different colour.

“Hi.” The voice was all his though, no point in hiding that, not when inside.

“Hello.” John folded the paper away and placed it on the table next to him.

Sherlock didn’t move for a while, just looked John up and down - no doubt deducing everything he had missed in the few months he’d been gone. He nodded when he was satisfied.

“Right, I’ll go and get changed - probably best to order in this evening.” 

John barely had the time to nod before Sherlock was off down the small corridor to the bedrooms and bathroom. He sighed, wiped his hands over his face and tried to slow his heart rate with careful full breaths. He would never understand how his friend could do that… fake his death for John’s safety then just walk in every few months as though the time apart didn’t matter. 

“I’ll just make the tea then,” he muttered under his breath, standing and walking to the small kitchen that connected to the living room. He filled the kettle and flicked the switch with more force than was strictly needed.

There were several takeaway menus on the counter each with dishes circled - Sherlock had spent one evening doing it (no doubt to stave off boredom) - one colour was for John and the other for him. It seemed pointless as he rarely ate anything but it at least made ordering easier for John. Angelo’s was out of the question and although John missed it so far Sherlock hadn’t complained so he hadn’t mentioned it.

He could hear muttering and scowling from Sherlock’s room as he poured the tea and knew it wouldn’t be long now. He tucked the menu under his arm and placed the two steaming cups of tea on the table in front of the sofa.

He’d made the order for Chinese and had turned the TV on before Sherlock returned looking exactly like himself in a too tight blue shirt and black trousers. He was texting away on his phone as he sat down next to John.

“Mycroft says the Chinese will be here in half an hour.” He told him, locking the screen of his phone and placing it on the table. “He also said to let you know that everything is fine so far, no security threats and no need to close the blinds.” He was smirking as he said the last bit and John felt his mouth quirk into a smile.

“As much as I appreciate Mycroft’s help it is a little unnerving knowing he’s watching all the time,” John admitted.

“He always has been,” Sherlock pointed out, drinking his tea without complaint and shifting closer to John. 

“Only now we can’t disable the cameras.” He doesn’t say why because they both know. It isn’t a game anymore, not some childhood feud - although Sherlock’s reassured John that that’s not over - the camera’s really are for his protection this time.

“Most of them are heat or motion sensitive,” Sherlock told him and John blinked in surprise. “He’s not literally watching our every move. That would be, as you put it ‘a bit not good’.”

John wanted to thank him but couldn’t find the words so instead he nodded and gulped his tea, Sherlock watched him the entire time.

***  
“You’re eating,” John commented with a cheerful if surprised tone in his voice. Sherlock looked thoroughly unimpressed but refrained from whatever sarcastic response rested on his tongue.

“No case and as you like to remind me I do need to eat at some point. It’s been three days and ‘Mystic Palace’ is one of the better places in the selection of local takeaways to order from.” He tucked back into his food and this time it was John’s turn to watch him. 

He had missed him, more than he’d willingly admit but then he hadn’t had to. Anyone who mattered had watched him fall apart for five weeks of his life and even now when Sherlock was away it was hard to hold it together at times. No one suspected that Sherlock was alive, not really. Greg thought he was going through the usual ups and downs expected with grief and Molly (who knew) had reaffirmed that for him. He wouldn’t trade knowing Sherlock was alive for anything other than having things back to the way they had been before. But not knowing where Sherlock was headed or for how long was especially hard given how integral Sherlock was in John’s life.

“I’ll be here until September, most likely longer but at least until the 9th,” Sherlock announced, looking at his food and not at John. He didn’t sound annoyed, if anything he sounded nervous and John was not used to that.

“Alright.”

“Mycroft.” His brothers name was said in distaste. “Has decided it is easier to keep watch on me in London rather than anywhere else given that most of his agents and forces are here already. He doesn’t want to have to call on them - hence the airport this morning but he thinks it’s a better arrangement all round.”

“Do you?” John asked before he could stop himself.

“That’s not the point John, I don’t like having my decisions made for me.” His eyes flashed up to John’s then, just briefly and he could see a glimpse of how hard this was on his friend.

“He’s trying to make amends.”

“I know.” Sherlock’s voice was softer. “I know.”

“Come on then, might as well watch the opening ceremony - you can deduce all the athletes after the good part is over.” John stood and headed back to the living room with Sherlock close behind him, he didn’t complain, just sat close to John again as he turned the TV back on.

***  
Sherlock was oddly silent through most of it. The parades had started and still his friend hadn’t said a word, he did think about asking him if he wanted to talk about it but that hadn’t gone so well last time he had tried. In that respect at least they were similar. Instead he sat back and let his thoughts wander.

Eventually though, Sherlock did start to talk.

“You haven’t been on any dates at all for at least the last year.” It was said as a statement of fact and wasn’t what John had expected to hear.

“No, no I haven’t.” He hadn’t really given it much thought. For one, he wasn’t in anywhere near the right frame of mind to be thinking about meeting anyone new and if something was to happen with someone how would he explain the infrequent visits of his supposedly dead best friend? Sherlock seemed to have missed that part of his reasoning out. Unless he was going to try and talk to him about it - John suppressed a shudder - that would not go well.

“How long exactly?”

 _Oh god he is trying to talk to me about it._ John cringed but did think about it. It was longer than a year, the last date or at least the last attempted one had been on the Baskerville case and that was only because Sherlock had literally thrown temptation in his face. 

Asking whether or not it mattered wouldn’t avoid the inevitable line of continuing questions that he was sure were coming so he answered.

“March last year, but it could be longer than that, I haven’t really been keeping track.” Why would he? There were and had been more interesting and important things going on.

“And that doesn’t bother you?” Sherlock still wasn’t looking at him and had his thinking pose on though his hands were in his lap instead of steepled under his chin.

“No, I don’t really think about it.” Worrying about his best friend had been taking up most of his brain power and between that and trying to hold down his new part time work at the surgery he wasn’t up to going out in search of someone.

“Why?” Sherlock sounded confused rather than searching for an answer he already knew was there.

“Because right now and apparently for the last year, I haven’t wanted to.” He still had no idea where this was headed but kept calm.

“When I return, after all this is over do you think you’ll start dating again?”

John half wished he had a drink to choke on but Sherlock still wouldn’t look at him.

“I don’t…” Then he thought about it and couldn’t imagine himself actively pursuing someone with Sherlock in his life - at least not for a while - not until having him back and living with him became normal again. But then again he hadn’t ever imagined stopping dating until he found someone only two years ago. “Priorities change Sherlock, girlfriends and relationships aren’t always important things in my life.” In fact they rarely had been, they proved a nice distraction and certainly lovely company but that was all it was becoming and it wasn’t fair on anyone else if his heart wasn’t really in it. Plus Sherlock had thus far done everything he could to put them off or get rid of them and Sarah - the only one he’d left (mostly) alone - hadn’t been what John wanted in the end and they’d become good friends instead.

“So will you?” Sherlock prompted, no doubt still wanting a clear answer and John was fast regretting ever been glad of how inept his friend was when it came to certain area’s of human interaction.

“What do you want, Sherlock?” He hoped he’d avoided anger in his voice because he wasn’t anything other than very confused as to why this mattered and why he was being scrutinised in such a calm manner. Normally his friend demanded information or deduced it but he wasn’t looking…. unless that was why, for some reason Sherlock didn’t want to cheat or didn’t know how to read the information no doubt written all over John. 

“For you to answer the question.” He sounded impatient and the words were clipped.

“I have,” John said calmly, realising that he’d inadvertently done just that.

“No you haven’t. You only made vague comments that amount to maybe and then you asked me what I wanted.”

“Exactly.”

“John.” It was a tone he hadn’t really used with him before and it sounded… not quite pleading exactly but close to it. Sherlock also looked very much like he wanted to turn all the way around and he couldn’t have missed John staring at him.

It was odd though, John should have been annoyed or aggravated by how much he’d given up for Sherlock but he’d always known it wasn’t really like that. There were times when Sherlock’s antics had driven him up the wall and over it and at times he was insufferable but John wouldn’t change him. Life with Sherlock gave him everything he wanted and more than he needed so it didn’t matter how frustrating it could be at times because it would always be worth it on balance. Even if currently he went months without his best friend, the moment he was back things were fine again and the world was back on it’s kilter.

“What?” John prompted, his voice somewhat softer than normal.

“Do you mean that?” Sherlock looked up at him this time, not directly, but enough that his eyes flicked over his face and shirt.

“Yes.” Because he did. He’d realised after Reichenbach - the name the world had given for Sherlock’s fall (Really he’d realised after Irene Adler walked out of their lives for the last time) that a life without Sherlock Holmes in it would be far worse than a life without women and dating and romance. If he had to choose - regardless of what anyone else said - he’d choose his best friend every time.

“You shouldn’t.” There wasn’t really any force behind Sherlock’s words though and instead it sounded as though he was saying them without meaning because he thought he had to.

“Why not?” Eyes flashed over his again before he replied. 

“For a similar reason to why you shouldn’t make me a hero, I’m not -”

“Worth it?” John almost couldn’t believe he was hearing this. “Don’t lie to me again Sherlock. I thought we’d been over this. No lies and you do not get to decide whether or not you’re worth it. I’m pretty sure that part is up to me.” Then he added, just so they didn’t get off topic. “What do you want?”

“That’s a very big question.” _Now is not the time for sarcasm._

“Alright then; what do you want from me?” It was - or at least it should have been - a simple enough question for him to answer.

“John…” That sounded something between a warning and a plea.

“Look, unless what you want is to have nothing to do with me - which I already know isn’t true because you are here - I don’t know why I wouldn’t want to hear the answer.”

Sherlock nodded then finally said something other than John’s name. “I don’t want you to date anyone, I don’t want you to ‘see’ anyone or whatever else other people call it. And of course I wouldn’t want you out of my life, don’t be ridiculous.” He sounded more like himself the longer he spoke and John smiled.

“That’s fine with me.” He felt as though he was breathing a sigh of relief, he hadn’t expected to but it was good - nice even to know someone wants you enough to keep you - took the pressure off and somewhere deep down John was really happy about it.

“Really? Why?” Sherlock’s whole body was turned towards him and now their knees were touching.

“Why do you want it?” He knew he was pushing his luck with all the questions instead of straight replies but given how honest he was being it seemed only fair that Sherlock return the favour.

“Are you trying to say it’s the same thing?” Sherlock raised one eyebrow and didn’t look so much disbelieving as hopeful. John really wasn’t sure what to make of that but he fought the urge to roll his eyes and instead nodded.

“I really don’t think so, it doesn’t match any of the data I have on the subject which is why I need to know, John, it’s important.” It was then that he finally fixed his eyes on John’s, looking as though he was trying to read the answers through or in them but either he couldn’t find what he was looking for - or as John had previously thought - didn’t understand or accept what he’d discovered.

“So you don’t want to tell me until I explain my side of it.” He hoped he sounded at least a little indignant.

“Yes.”

“Because this is somehow important and needs to be explained before you come back permanently.”

“Yes.” Sherlock seemed to be forcing himself not to be impatient which was new for him. John’s eyes widened a bit and he shrugged, may as well be honest then.

“Because you are my best friend and pretty much the most important person in my life. That’s not something that happens without..” _Okay so this is harder than I thought._ “Without loving you in one way or another. That’s why, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s eyes went wide but he didn’t move away, probably because now that he had said it John felt and looked calm again and Sherlock would be able to read that. John didn’t think it would really be such a massive revelation, even if they didn’t talk about it it was pretty obvious and there were so many kinds of love after all that John wasn’t expecting a repeat of ‘married to my work’. Which was, as he had tried to point out at the time, a massive over reaction on Sherlock’s part to a simple (but completely misinterpreted) question. ‘Not his area’ was an understatement - even by Sherlock’s standards.

“In what way?” Came the reply a few moments later and this time John really did roll his eyes. “John.” He sounded stern which just had the affect of irritating John further.

“Does it need to be a certain way?” Because he hadn’t gotten around to classifying it yet. John loved Sherlock and he had been frighteningly certain of just how much as he had stood there, staring at the roof of St Barts and again in his counsellors office and once more at his now redundant grave stone. But he’d never sat there and assessed in what way. All he had wanted was for his friend to be alive and well and with him - even now when he was gone all John wanted was for him to come back. “Does it matter?” He wasn’t defensive about it and didn’t see why he should be. He also noticed that their knees were still pressed together but he made no move to pull away. He didn’t mind the contact and reasoned it was just Sherlock’s way of gathering information. Maybe he even found comfort in it, he couldn’t tell.

“Yes, it matters. When I return, when all of this is over it’s going to be different for us, at least until the papers get bored and move on to something else.”

John nodded even though he didn’t really understand it, as usual there was something important he was missing. As far as he was concerned he’d just agreed to give Sherlock what he wanted without regret or bargaining for anything in return. He’d effectually just agreed to an exclusive relationship (whatever that was exactly) with his best friend.

“Look, Sherlock. Given that I’ve pretty much declared my unconditional love - meaning there is nothing you could say to change that - would you mind telling me what this is all about?”

Again, Sherlock looked at him but he didn’t seem offended or bothered by the comment, just surprised. John found comfort in that, after all; he’d surprised the great Sherlock Holmes twice in ten minutes and that must have been a record.

“I’ve been advised it is best to be as delicate as possible about this sort of thing.”

“By who?” John couldn’t imagine Sherlock taking advice from anyone.

“Molly.” Well that at least explained it, no doubt she’d noticed something (he still couldn’t work out what though) and felt the need to point it out. She’d started spending more time with Greg since his divorce, having become more and more sure of herself and acted on her intuition as a result. 

“Alright.” He sighed, took a very deep breath in then out and flexed his fingers to calm himself. If Molly was talking to Sherlock about something she considered delicate he was staring to get some idea as to where this might be headed. “This has to do with feelings but yours or mine? And really, Sherlock there is no point denying you have them, you wouldn’t be here otherwise.” John knew he was currently using the tone of voice he reserved for his most guarded of patients but short of getting into a shouting match with Sherlock (they never ended well) he didn’t know what to do and was getting steadily more irritated by the second.  
Sherlock only nodded.

“Christ, Sherlock.” John muttered under his breath. “Right now forget what Molly said. What do you want from me and why are you so sure I can’t give it to you?” That had to be the reason he wasn’t saying anything.

“Everything, John, I want everything.” His eyes were thunderous and his knees dug into johns side but he didn’t come any closer.

There wasn’t the need for further clarification, not really. John had seen that look before, maybe not with that level of soul stripping intensity but he’d seen it. Somewhere he noted that it looked better on Sherlock but part of him questioned why he wasn’t currently listing all the reasons why this was wrong and shouldn’t be happening. The rest of him, his now hammering heart, shaking hands and rapidly blinking eyes were drowning out such thoughts.

“But it might be enough just to have you with me, just for there to be no one else and for you to love me in whatever way you can,” Sherlock added, voice soft and so very quiet. It seemed ‘married to my work’ only mattered when there was nothing else. 

John remembered how frightened Sherlock had been when the drug at Baskerville had forcefully unmasked his emotions and the difficult - but welcome - apology and confirmation of their friendship the day after. He couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been for him to consider dropping such a barrier willingly in John’s flat when he thought he had so much to loose.

Moriarty must have known, even when they hadn’t and he wondered when Sherlock had realised, wondered how hard that call on the roof must have been even if the tears had been faked.

John sighed again, however this worked out they had to learn how to talk about things.

“Sherlock, listen, this - this isn’t a rejection.” And he could hear a part of himself saying ‘isn’t it? Why isn’t it?’ but he ignored it. Maybe once it would have been possible to pretend their relationship stopped at close friendship but the lines had been blurred for a long time. They would probably have stayed that way too if Sherlock hadn’t brought it up, but now that he had John saw his chance and he took it. “If you want me you can have me - at least all the parts that aren’t yours already.” Then he let Sherlock look at him, all of him and maybe finally he would start to read the signs properly.

“You have to be certain John, this isn’t something I can go back on, not easily it would -”

“I know.” John placed a hand over Sherlock’s when it came to rest on his thigh. “I know, but I also know that a life without you - even five weeks - is too long.”

“John.” That sounded like a warning.

“This isn’t pity, this isn’t me agreeing to this for the wrong reasons,” John explained, realising how it could have sounded. “I didn’t realise until after I saw you jump. My councillor kept asking me to tell her what it was I couldn’t say to you but if I hadn’t told you it didn’t seem fair to tell anyone else.” Sherlocks hand turned under his and he joined their fingers together. “I don’t know when it happened, when you suddenly became the singular most important person in my life but if you’d sat here today and asked for nothing more than my life long friendship I’d have given it to you. But if you’re asking for more than that then you can have that too.”

“All of it, John, all of it for the rest of our lives.” Sherlock held his hand tighter. “All of me too, you can have all of me.”

John smiled. “Alright.” 

He wasn’t sure what he expected next, whether Sherlock would let go of him or come closer but eventually he let go of his hand and slid down to rest his head on John’s lap, and tucked his legs up onto the sofa. His hands came to rest at John’s knees and, although it should have felt strange it didn’t - just new and right.

So John followed his instincts and ran his hand through Sherlock’s hair and eventually Sherlock started his running commentary as the rest of the Olympic parade rolled by.

***  
Normally, when Sherlock was visiting John, he took the room unofficially set aside for him at night or spent hours in the living room with the black out blinds pulled down (careful precautions just in case anyone other than Mycroft was watching). 

But Sherlock had headed into the bathroom the moment that John had left it and was making sounds that indicated he was getting ready for bed.

They’d watched the rest of the opening ceremony only to turn it off when ‘Hey Jude’ came on and before Sherlock could question who it was and why he was so important, John had announced he was going to bed.

He didn’t know what to expect from anything anymore and if he was honest he missed the feel and reassurance of Sherlock’s head in his lap and his hands burrowing in between the backs of his knees and the sofa. He wasn’t sure how things were going to change or at what point so giving Sherlock the lead (for now) seemed like the best idea.

“I thought you were going to bed,” Sherlock stated from the entrance off the living room headed towards the bedrooms and bathroom.

“I am, just thinking.” _‘about whether or not I should take you with me.’_ He stood and walked until he was in front of Sherlock trying to figure out what to say next. 

He settled for: “You coming?” In the end because Sherlock was staring at him again and he was becoming too tired to wait for him to finish deducing him and speak.

“Yes.” Sherlock nodded having probably realised he was welcome.

“Come on then.” John was glad he had bothered to stick to a laundry rota because it meant his sheets were clean and there would be no awkward remaking of the bed before Sherlock crawled into it. 

And he did crawl in, he had shut the door, waited for John to get in on his side then followed him and turned on his side so that they were face to face.  
“You were always there and then suddenly you weren’t,” Sherlock stated.

“Go on,” John prompted gently, surprised he’d chosen now as the moment to say this but wanting to hear it all the same.

“I never used to notice when you weren’t with me because it always felt like you were, and if not you would be back again within a reasonable amount of time. After, I knew you weren’t and I hated it. I’ve been lonely before but never in a way where I knew exactly what I was missing,” Sherlock told him, voice low and body close. 

John didn’t even bother to ask why he was telling him this - anything remotely close to talking about his personal life seemed to have been avoided before now - and he didn’t want to waste the opportunity to finally hear about it. 

“My brother knew. He understood the moment you turned down the cheque what this could turn in to and Moriarty thought we were already there.”

John had been right about that, then and at the mention of _his_ name he shifted closer allowing Sherlock to roll into him and wind his arms and legs around him in a way that was comfortable if a little distracting. Sherlock was warm and present and there and John’s heart swelled as he wrapped himself around him in turn.

“When I left.” He never really said jumped or fell, just left. “I realised for the first time what it meant to know you weren’t there and I couldn’t concentrate and worse I didn’t know how to, it was deafening and distracting and then of course I realised it must have been worse for you.” His voice was lower, wary even and John held him tighter for a moment to remind them both that they were fine and that there had been no other choice. “It was too distracting. I went to Mycroft and he agreed to whatever I wanted, providing I didn’t follow through with my threat to remove him from my life.”

“He is sorry,” John reminded him gently.

“It doesn’t matter, I got what I wanted.”

“Me.” John realised, he’d known Sherlock was involved - of course he knew - but he’d always thought it was more Mycroft’s silent apology rather than him complying with a demand.

“He made you get the new flat of course and a lot of it had to be done his way but it meant I could see you.” And the ‘so you wouldn’t keep thinking I was dead’ went unspoken but John knew it was there none the less.

“I should probably get him more than a card for christmas this year.” 

Sherlock shook his head against his good shoulder and breathed deeply against John’s skin.

“I couldn’t work out what you wanted, though, although the first time I was here all that was important was that I’d seen you and you knew what was happening. Since the second time I had been trying to understand whether your lack of dating was through boredom - perhaps the tedium of it all might have finally convinced you to stop - whether or not you were too busy or whether you had realised you had feelings for me and didn’t know what to do with them.”

“It was none of those things,” John reminded him and Sherlock made a humming sound against his skin.

“Maybe that was why I couldn’t work it out, the data was incomplete. I could only go on the facts I had and ‘not interested’ never occurred to me.”

“You were - are more important. I stopped before I started doing it just to make a point or because I felt like I should be. I didn’t want a life away from you anyway so what was the point in chasing after one.” It was odd realising all of this lying curled around his best friend but not uncomfortable, it was quite the opposite and John had forgotten how nice it was just to lie with someone and talk, no expectations except sleep at the end of it.

“And you are sure you’re not going to wake up in the morning and run out on me? This is a pretty big change for you.” Sherlock’s voice was deep and vibrated through him where his lips touched skin. John closed his eyes as he let himself feel it and think about his words. It was Sherlock giving him an out, Sherlock letting a little bit of his vulnerability show through. John was moved by it and for a moment couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry.

“I’ll admit, I have no experience in this area. I’ve never felt this way about another man and I certainly didn’t expect to but it doesn’t matter. After believing you were dead… well it put a few things into perspective.” John turned his head and pressed a kiss into Sherlock’s dark curls. He wondered how that would come across, whether or not Sherlock was happy to accept his more intimate touches and romantic notions but Sherlock didn’t say anything or move away (and he was, John reminded himself currently willingly wrapped around him). It just felt strange to be able to do that and not have ‘sentiment’ thrown back in his face, but then they had both changed since the fall and this would just be one more thing to get used to.

“It might be a big change for me but it must be for you too.”

Sherlock shook his head against him. “Not the same, I’ve had time to think about this and I’ve never really had a sexual identity to begin with, yours comes with it’s own unique title attached.”  
That was true, he supposed. He did and it had been true - exaggerated slightly - but strictly speaking accurate. It did leave one question he wanted to ask and he saw no reason not to, it was bound to come up sooner or later.

“So you’ve never …” It was clear what he meant.

“No, never wanted to, not until now.” Sherlock shifted slightly to look at him. “Does that bother you?”

John shook his head. “No, just wanted to take advantage of your current willingness to answer my questions.”

“I did say everything, John,” Sherlock reminded him quietly and with those words the mood changed. John felt the gravity of it sinking in and held Sherlock tightly against him, pressing his forehead against his. He felt like he was asking permission for something he didn’t really need it for but at the same time wanted to hold on to the feeling and remember it - like falling whilst being held perfectly still.

He saw Sherlock smile in the light from his bedside table and watched him tilt his head a little before shifting closer and letting out a long gentle breath against his face. John was just about breathing, his eyes straining to stay open as he swallowed once more and moved forwards just enough to brush his lips against Sherlock’s. 

It was just a little more than lips pressed together but it shot straight down his spine and warmed his heart. 

He turned his head slightly and Sherlock mirrored - his lips moving against John’s as if (no they were) learning how to do this. John took it slowly, remembering to breathe as he felt Sherlock’s breath against his face in turn. His lips were soft but then he didn’t know why he’d expected otherwise and although he wanted to take it deeper John knew he’d fast reach a point when he’d go too far and get carried away.

Nothing they did would change his mind about him and Sherlock but he still didn’t want to rush into anything.  
One step at a time was probably best having declared unconditional love and promised to spend the rest of his life with Sherlock all in the same evening. Sleeping curled around him (or the other way around) was enough of a next step given the circumstances.

Sherlock either sensed this or hadn’t any plans to go further than that anyway and seemed content with their pace and the contact until he pulled away and stifled a yawn. That caught John’s attention and his mouth quirked up into a grin.

“What? You know I have to sleep at some point.” Sherlock almost pouted, might actually have done so but the light wasn’t quite bright enough to see it.

“Sleep, yes. Yawn? Don’t think I’ve seen you do that before.”

“Good night, John.” That sounded like a warning but Sherlock only loosened his arm enough to reach back and turn off the lamp before putting it straight back to where it had been tucked around John.

John chuckled. “Night, Sherlock.”

***


	2. Part 2

When John woke, the sun was pouring through the light curtains and into the bedroom. He was warm, though not overly so, but he could tell that something was missing. He opened his eyes to find that Sherlock wasn’t so much missing as he was watching him from the other side of the bed, practically on the edge of it. 

John’s sleepy mind wasn’t aware of much but he did know that it wasn’t what he wanted so he reached across for him.

“John.” It sounded like a warning and with it came back John’s memories of the night before. He sighed and rolled onto his back, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“If I pretend to freak out about waking up with my best friend in my bed, would that get you to stop acting like a prat?”

“I don’t want you to pretend to do anything but you’ve been so calm about it all so far and it shouldn’t stay that way - not with such a major change,” Sherlock explained as John took deep calming breaths and quelled the urge to punch him.

“You’ve only ever been ‘married to your work’ before now, why haven’t you freaked out about it? Why do I have to?”

Sherlock was quiet and didn’t answer for a minute or two.

“I never said I hadn’t.” John turned to face him again and this time he did reach for him, he must have looked as surprised as he felt because Sherlock grimaced before sliding across the mattress in defeat and let John pull him into his arms. “I told you it had been hard to concentrate, that I had to see you but even knowing that didn’t prepare me for what happened after I left here for the first time. I realised why I’d been so desperate to do so. Mycroft knew to leave me well enough alone and thankfully didn’t try and talk to me about it and I well...some things are harder to deal with without cocaine and nicotine patches are not made for this.”

John stayed silent, choosing instead to rest his head on Sherlock’s as he spoke.

“I didn’t ever want to feel this way, I’d never needed it before but then you - I wouldn’t change it John. Things are better with you, I am better with you here and without you I don’t function properly. But it was hard to come to terms with.” 

The honesty more than anything else was what got to John, and he felt his throat close up, felt the lump forming there and tears build up in his eyes. He had known since the pool that Sherlock had real, human feelings and since Baskerville that he cared for him but this kind of admission? From someone he had never expected to be affected by it? It was both comforting and painful to hear.

“And you think,” he quietly choked out. “that because I have always protested how very not gay I am and because I’ve only ever been with women, that this will trigger an identity crisis?” There was no accusation in his voice or anger in his tone, he was just trying to make sure he understood where Sherlock was coming from.

“Yes.”

John thought about why it wasn’t a problem because even he had to admit the question was a good one. “I might have done had I been in love with you before, in fact I can almost guarantee I would have. I haven’t always felt this way, though. I don’t think it was really until last night, or at least that was when I realised, but had that conversation happened earlier I doubt I’d have stayed in the room long enough to finish it.”

“It was because I was gone - and you thought forever - that when I came back it started it all for you. That’s why you’re not shocked or bothered by it, that’s why you’re still here.” Sherlock sounded more and more like himself and John only nodded, beginning to seriously worry he would cry and he didn’t want Sherlock to see it.

The thought of Sherlock working this all out on his own and dealing with it then facing the idea that it might not be reciprocated because he didn’t know how to read the signs…. he pulled Sherlock tighter against him, shifted in the bed to tuck his head into the crook of Sherlock’s neck and breathed him in as he pressed his face against warm skin.

He couldn’t say anything without the risk of tears and it seemed this at least Sherlock understood as his arms tightened around John’s back and his mouth pressed against his temple in a kiss. Neither of them let go.

This was his crisis, not running away from a new development, not the sudden realisation that he was in love with his very male best friend but the overwhelming feeling that this almost didn’t happen, that if Sherlock’s plan hadn’t worked then he would have never had this and worse still wouldn’t have understood what he was missing. It felt as though his heart was breaking again but as it shattered there was Sherlock to hold all the pieces together for him when before there had been nothing and no one.

***

They didn’t move for the next half hour or so and when they did John kissed Sherlock again then wordlessly left for a shower. Sherlock had gone in after him and then went and found John in the kitchen once he was done. He found him with his hands gripping the edge of the sink and two cups of steaming tea besides him.

John knew he was there and turned when he heard him approach, he smiled weakly and didn’t even bother to pretend he hadn’t been crying whilst Sherlock had been elsewhere.

John half expected him to carry on as though everything was normal and that would have been fine, really, because he didn’t really know what to do about the tears either. But Sherlock didn’t carry on. Instead, he reached his arms out to John and pulled him gently into him, head against his chest as thin but strong arms went around him.

“I think I understand it now,” he said and John took it for the apology it was no doubt meant to be.

“Am I going to have to get used to a more tactile Sherlock Holmes?” he asked weakly, trying to lighten the mood.

“Hm, that depends.” Sherlock’s voice resonated within his chest and John leaned further into it.

“On what?” He could almost feel Sherlock’s smile in response.

“There are a great deal of variables to consider in any instance but here, like this when it’s just us, then yes.”

“Good.” Feeling a little better and more confident he pulled back just a little, enough to see Sherlock watching him again. “What about outside?”

“If you agree to a candle at Angelo’s for dinner, double rooms in hotels and an end to the general protest of ‘not a couple’, then sometimes, when things call for it yes.” His eyes were watching John’s and he realised there was intended humour within that statement.

“I didn’t complain when our twin room in Dartmoor changed to a double by the end of the first evening,” John pointed out and although that had been awkward it had been for no other reason than Sherlock liked to sleep diagonally across the mattress (Which he had done, on the one night he had chosen to go to bed) and had left no room for John. He had been more considerate the night before, though, so John didn’t bring it up. 

“And also we weren’t a couple. Not in the way they were implying. Now that it’s true they can say whatever they like.”   
“Fascinating,” Sherlock announced.

“What is?”

“You are aware your lack of complaints ties in quite nicely with your lack of interest in women.”

John rolled his eyes and tried to get out of Sherlock’s hold but although he would probably have overpowered his friend he didn’t bother, he wouldn’t relent so John gave up.

“I don’t care what my subconscious was up to and neither should you,” he reminded him gently because really, back then, that was all it probably was. He saw no need to romanticise the before, it had happened the way it had happened.

“Everything about you matters, John.” Sherlock sounded as though he was stating the obvious, which was what he did most of the time - it even carried the same level of condescension. But it was pretty hard to be offended when someone said that about you. So John smiled instead, feeling his earlier sadness fade.

“Do you have any plans while you’re here?” John asked, not knowing exactly what to say. His declarations couldn’t compete with that and he didn’t try. The look on his face seemed to do the trick, though and Sherlock looked pleased.

“I don’t feel like spending any more time as Sigerson for at least the next couple of days but after that Mycroft got us some tickets to the Olympics so there’s that.” John was surprised but oddly happy. “Then there’s some books I want to read, articles and journals to check on and we need to invite Lestrade and Molly - or you will need to - they are your friends so they’ll be no suspicion there.”

“Greg and Molly? Your disguise is good, enough to fool me if I didn’t know you were in it and Molly has seen it before, but won’t that still be a bit odd?”

Sherlock seemed to consider it for a moment. “It will be fine, I owe Molly a favour and Greg will probably be glad to meet your Norwegian pen pal. Molly keeps telling me how worried he is about you.”

John shrugged. “Fine.” He leaned against Sherlock again before stepping back. “Tea?” It was no longer steaming but still plenty warm enough to drink.

“Hmm, probably best,” Sherlock agreed, taking his mug and following John to the sofa, placing his cup down before laying down over John’s lap.

“Still tired?” 

“Yes,” Sherlock admitted and John suddenly wasn’t sure he wanted to know how many hours he had spent watching him sleep.

“Two hours and twenty one minutes. You’re a light sleeper, so I didn’t make any attempt to wake you and also couldn’t leave the room. I wouldn’t have anyway, I wanted to see what happened when you woke naturally.”

John smiled, deciding to look over most of what he had just been told. “I’ve missed that.” He admitted, running his fingers through Sherlock’s hair that was still damp from the shower. Sherlock hummed and leaned into his touch. “You can sleep now you know.”

“Best not to, probably best if I keep to a proper sleeping pattern,” he explained, not moving from where he was. “At least between cases, unless of course you don’t always want to -”

“We don’t need a second bedroom anymore, Sherlock,” John interrupted, taking pity on his friend before his explanation became uncomfortable. “Just no more sleeping diagonally across the bed.”

Sherlock grunted but nodded. “It was a terrible mattress and it was the only way I could get comfortable, and you were still in the shower. The room they gave us wasn’t exactly intended for much in the way of sleeping, anyway.”

“That would explain some of the comments at breakfast.” Never had ‘slept well’ been said with so little tact, a knowing smile and wiggling eyebrows all rolled into one.

“Which you didn’t object to,” Sherlock once again pointed out and John rolled his eyes.

“You never objected to anyones comments,” he reminded him.

“Never saw the need to, I told you John, it’s never mattered what any of them thought of me, it’s irrelevant.” So there would be no change from Sherlock, aside from being closer with him in public.

“I just didn’t like the assumption that I was only with you because I was sleeping with you,” he explained, remembering one very terse comment from Donovan. “Mrs Hudson confused me, though.”  
Sherlock chuckled. “She always thought that only someone in love with me would be mad enough to live with me. She’s tried to have ‘the talk’ several times and has let it be known that she’s a deep sleeper so any noise wouldn’t reach her. When she found out you weren’t interested - and neither was I - she took it well and decided that you must love me anyway and that if we were happy she would be too. That’s why I had to make sure last night, John, platonic love would have been welcome enough, I would just have needed time to adjust.”

John slipped his free hand down to take hold of Sherlock’s and left the other resting in his hair, Sherlock rolled backwards and focussed his eyes on John.

“I would have realised eventually, I don’t know what I would have done had you not been here but I would have got there.”

Sherlock nodded. “When we get back to Baker Street you can be the one to tell Mrs Hudson, she’ll be delighted. You’ll have to tell her I’m alive first, of course, but it’ll be better coming from you.”

“Any particular reason?” John asked, amused by as to why it had to be him.

“Molly says you have what she referred to as ‘Tact’.” He pronounced the word carefully but with some degree of resignation as well.

“Ah. How about I tell her you’re alive, you join us and then I’ll tell her about the bedrooms.”

Sherlock pulled a face. “I had hoped to at least reach tomorrow without having to compromise.” 

John laughed but didn’t reply, Sherlock’s small smile meant he didn’t have to.

***

John had chosen a book mid morning and had sat steadily reading whilst Sherlock seemed content to stay rested along the sofa and in John’s lap. He wasn’t in one of his post-case-slumps and instead seemed to be thinking something through. 

After a few hours of silence (comfortable and for the most part relaxing) Sherlock finally said something to break it.

“Do you still have my violin?”

John nodded, putting down his book to find Sherlock staring at him again. It was unnerving even when he had nothing to hide. It was also a pointless question, he knew he did. 

“It’s in my room, bottom of the wardrobe with your skull and coat.”

Mycroft had told John he could take anything he wanted because John was the sole beneficiary to Sherlocks’s estate (with the exception of Mrs Hudson, in a minor part). He could hardly face choosing what to take, but he had and those three things along with a large box of sheet music and nothing more. Mycroft had the rest in 221B, but of course he hadn’t found that out until later.

Sherlock got up and headed in search of it, the flat had two soundproof rooms (the two bedrooms) and it was clear that he’d had enough silence and wanted the music again. Normally he would head into the spare room and play for a few hours, this time though he popped his head out of the door to John’s room.

“You can read just as well in here, John.”

He took the hint, grabbed his book again and followed him.

***  
They had stayed within the flat for a couple of days reading and catching up on things and each other before Sherlock had waved Olympic tickets in front of John on the third morning and suggested they head out.

For the few couple of days they had headed to the pool and for one glorious afternoon to the beach volleyball - Womans beach volleyball - which John had enjoyed immensely, whilst Sherlock (as Sigerson) had done his best to look moderately enraptured. 

It was good - great even because he couldn’t have imagined ever coming to anything like this with Sherlock normally. He was worried that his friend was bored out of his mind though, even when this had been his idea and kept the ruse of his disguise believable. Sigerson was a travel journalist, after all.

‘It’s fine, John.‘ Came the text message during the interval at the volleyball. The customary SH was missing from the end but he’d grown used to that.

He kept his eyes on the players coming back onto the court (it was hard not to) because if he looked at Sherlock anyone watching them would see his heart written all over his face and that was a dead giveaway. Instead he waited until they were home and Sherlock was Sherlock again and fresh from the shower. 

Seeing the Olympics had been brilliant but the easy intimacy he was getting used to in the walls of his flat was something he missed. It hadn’t really struck him how much he would want to be able to reach across and touch him, place his hand on his knee or rest against him until the second day of the swimming. He wondered how Sherlock felt about it but didn’t want to ask.

“No more Olympics for a week,” Sherlock declared, coming to sit against him on the sofa, then, not happy with the position, he leaned back over John to rest his head on the arm of the sofa as he settled across his friend.

“Oh?”

“I hate that wig and the clothes, John. You’re not expected to be anywhere for the next couple of weeks and I have no intention of leaving the flat for longer than a few hours within that time.”

John’s hand immediately went to Sherlock’s hair, it was towel try and just starting to curl.

“Do you still want to invite Greg and Molly over?” he asked, having taken for granted that Sherlock would be Sigerson for that visit.

“Yes, might be best to do it sooner rather than later even if it does mean another afternoon in that disguise. Molly has expressed concern over Lestrade thinking that she’d spending too much time talking to Sigerson and as I said I owe her a favour.” He sounded unhappy about the last part and John could tell he was eager to put them back on a more even footing - even though they both knew that would take a while given what she had done for them.

“Greg’s good for her and she’s really been good for him. Getting his divorce sorted, and seeing her has done him the world of good.”

“Hm, Molly has seemed a lot happier so I’ll concur. Remind me to text her later, there is something I need to ask her to bring - once you’ve invited them of course.”

John glanced across the table where his phone sat.

“I could do it now.” But Sherlock shook his head.

“You’re busy.” he told him and John smiled at his tone of voice.

“Am I?”

“Yes. What you’re doing is much more important than texting either Lestrade or Molly, in fact right now it’s the most important thing you could be doing.”

John was amused by what he took to be Sherlock’s version of flirting and he chuckled. As if he didn’t already give all his time and attention to Sherlock Holmes. 

“It would be better if you were down here though.”

“Would it now?” he replied in kind, scratching lightly at the base of Sherlock’s skull. He hummed deep in his throat and fixed his eyes on John in response. “That’s cheating,” he warned but Sherlock lifted himself off his lap and the sofa and waited until John laid down on his side before flopping back down again and pulling John towards him.

“It’s not cheating, you want it too, only for some reason you won’t ask.” His arms wrapped around his friends and he breathed deeply as they lay close together.

“Because it - it doesn’t matter.” John gave up explaining in favour of holding onto Sherlock, one hand back in his hair.

“You can ask me if you want something,” Sherlock told him.

“I was planning on things happening naturally.” It did amuse him that they still bickered, that they weren’t overly sentimental. 

“John?”

He pulled back just a little and Sherlock tilted his head up, brushing their lips together. He had never started a kiss before, although he was learning to follow eagerly. John accepted it, pressing forwards and letting Sherlock lead. His tongue slipped past his lips for just a moment and John repressed a groan, opening his mouth in reply. 

It made his head spin, the whole thing did. They were moving too fast but not fast enough. There was a lot John wanted but a long way to go for some of it. He was never one to rush into anything and yet more than once in bed with this man he had considered taking it past their current comfort zone. He was starting to _want_ Sherlock Holmes but he was pretty convinced neither of them were really ready for it yet.

Sherlock moved his tongue again and this time John parted his lips and let him move against him, welcoming it. They shifted and their teeth clicked together until they found the right angle again but John didn’t care. Sherlock was warm in his arms and pressed close against him and John felt as though his heart was expanding in his chest. It was hard to breathe but he didn’t want to, it was secondary and unimportant. 

Sherlock broke away and trailed his mouth down along John’s jaw and to his neck just bellow the collar of his shirt. He sucked lightly, not enough to make a mark but enough that John bucked against him involuntarily as his hands clenched at his back and hair.

Sherlock moved his leg over John’s and held them together but didn’t move as his breath came hot and fast against John’s skin. They stilled and let their breathing calm and their heart rate settle.

“John,” Sherlock breathed his name.

“Yeah?” John wasn’t much better himself but his hand had started to move in Sherlock’s hair again.

“There is so much. Too much,” he told him, eyes staring straight into John’s.

“I know, Sherlock, I know. For me too.”

“You’ve never done this before; or at least you feel that way.” Sherlock looked confused by his own observation.

“No, no I haven’t. It’s not a gender thing either, it’s never felt like this before. It’s been close, but this - you - are different.” He wanted to kiss him again, wanted to lay on top of him and press him down into the cushions of the sofa and move against him but he didn’t. Sherlock’s legs locked around his was enough of a deterrent as it was, his pupils were still blown wide though and John didn’t think his were much better. If neither of them wanted to go any further it seemed pointless to do any and all of the things running though his mind.

“Do you want to move?” John asked Sherlock, not sure what to do now.

“No.” He buried his head into the crook of John’s shoulder again and breathed deeply.

“Good.” He tightened his arms that little bit more around him and held on as they both settled down. Right then that was enough.

***  
John invited Greg and Molly later that night and arranged for them to visit the following evening. Sherlock had then spent half an hour deeply engrossed in his phone, carefully not letting John see what he was typing.

He eventually seemed to succeed in whatever it was he was trying to achieve and crawled into bed, latching into John in the middle of the bed and not letting go even after he’d fallen asleep.

Unusually, it was John that woke first, sometime after 4am and found himself unable to get back to sleep. Sherlock’s head was tucked underneath his right shoulder and lay against his chest, arms holding on across his ribs and legs tangled with his.

It wasn’t arousal that kept him awake, although there was certainly a small amount of that when in the position they lay in, but his thoughts fell along that line anyway. They would have done regardless.

He knew why it felt like too much and he was pretty sure Sherlock did too (although he wasn’t really able to tell for certain, it was clear Sherlock was waiting for something but what John could only guess). They still had a month before Sherlock would leave again and he probably wouldn’t return until christmas so now saying goodbye would be harder in all the ways it hadn’t been before.

Even now, John knew he’d be broken enough when it became time for Sherlock to go but sex always changed things. Almost always for the better but at times for the worst too. It would make the pain of loss (However temporary) greater and before that would pull them closer in ways they hadn’t been before. 

It was never ‘just sex’ and between them John knew it never could be. 

Maybe that was part of the problem - because he would also regret not having that intimacy with him. Not being able to be that close to Sherlock before they were separated again would lie heavy on his heart but it was also a lot of pressure for a first time.

He sighed and rubbed his free hand, the one not closed around Sherlock, over his face. 

“Over thinking things is supposed to be your job not mine,” he whispered, but his friend wasn’t awake to hear him and if he was he didn’t seem to have any intention of replying. “I’ll leave this to you then, shall I.” No regrets, he was used to following Sherlock head long into things.

***  
They spent the morning quietly, if you counted Sherlock playing the violin for almost 6 hours straight quietly. But John did, it was relaxing enough to sit in his room and watch Sherlock (dressed in nothing but a thin white shirt and silk boxers) as he played all the pieces he knew were John’s favourites as well as some of his own.

They were interrupted in the early afternoon by a text from Mycroft advising them that their food delivery had arrived. John had signed for it and Sherlock appeared once the door was closed and locked.

“Was it Mycroft you were texting yesterday?” Because although he’d said he needed to ask Molly to bring something John didn’t think that would have needed the level of texting Sherlock had gone to the evening before. 

“No, but it’s been a week since I got here and we do have guests to entertain in a couple of hours.” He rested against the counter but made no move to help him, he was flicking though one of the journals John subscribed to - although most of them were ordered with Sherlock in mind - they also helped in his on going writing endeavours which took his mind off things when Sherlock was away.

“I wasn’t planning on cooking,” he commented, putting the frozen food away and then moving on to the fridge.

“You’re not going to. The second had contains wine.”

John shook his head and laughed - Sherlock was right, of course, and John slotted the bottles in along side the milk and fruit juice before closing the fridge.

“It was Molly.” 

“What? Really?” That was a lot of texting and John wondered at once what he had asked her for.

“I told you, I needed to ask her to bring something for me.” He wasn’t looking at John anymore, probably because he’d answered the only question he wanted to and John didn’t see the point in asking what it was he’d wanted. He could understand him not asking his brother and it must have been something he couldn’t just ask John to get. For a moment he worried what he would find in the fridge after the evening was over but Sherlock had promised no experiments whilst in John’s flat. His security mattered more than scientific curiosity.

So John let it be and honoured Sherlock’s privacy, just because he would tell him anything he wanted to know didn’t mean that he would abuse that fact.

“Right, well I’m going to get a shower.” He started towards the doorway and Sherlock closed his journal to look at him. “You don’t have to join me,” he added, letting him know it wasn’t a request.

“I want to.” John’s eyes went a bit wide at the honesty in that statement and it took him a moment to get his thoughts together.

“I wouldn’t stop you.” His throat was dry.

Sherlock smiled, just a little knowing smile, the one he showed John sometimes when he wanted to share something with him.

“I know. But we’ve got guests and I need to start getting ready. Later though.” His eyes never left John’s, who, for his credit had at least managed to retain his natural colour. It was awkward but not at the same time because Sherlock was still Sherlock whatever the situation. Only he was gentler in these moments between them.

“I won’t be long,” John told him, catching his hand and holding it for a moment. As he was about to let go though Sherlock pulled him close and kissed him before letting him leave.

***  
Lestrade and Molly arrived only a few minutes late, Greg had apologised - parking wasn’t easily available when he was out of uniform and in an unmarked car.

Molly had hugged John and asked how things were, his reply of good thanks had earned him another hug and a smile.

Greg shook his hand and thanked him for the invite as John bolted the door and lead them inside. He had introduced them to Sigerson and Molly, who had at least ‘met’ him before, proved herself an excellent actress while Lestrade shook his hand and asked him to call him Greg. 

Molly and Sherlock (still completely in character) sat in the living room, the television on low whilst they talked about something - probably whatever errand Sherlock had sent her on - while Greg followed John into the adjoining kitchen.

“I’ll admit, I feel a bit stupid now,” Greg told him.

“Oh?” John asked, genuinely confused by that comment.

“Yeah, all this time I’ve been worried she was spending too much time talking to Sigerson and it turns out to be your friend just checking up on you.”

“Ah. Is that what he’s been doing?” John replied, glad at least that Sherlock hadn’t discussed everything with him so his surprise was at least partially genuine.

“Yeah, good friend you’ve got there. Looks like he didn’t want to come across as over protective - Turns out he didn’t want me to know because he was worried I’d say something which I would have by the way.” Some how that was a good thing for John to hear.

“Thank you.” Was all he said in reply though.

“It’s no problem, as long as you know there are people who care about you I suppose that’s all that matters.” John made a sound of agreement, Greg took a breath and then added. “How are you, John, I know you have your friends and your work but how are you doing?” They didn’t normally talk about their feelings and it was likely the only reason Lestrade had approached it was because of the relaxed afternoon with friends.

John couldn’t look at him, his concern was so genuine it was hard not to tell him it was Sherlock across the room. But he wouldn’t, Greg might not be in immediate danger but it still wasn’t a good idea. But he realised he could be honest in a round about sort of way.

“Things are better than they were. I do have my writing and my work to distract me and as long as someone is here, Sigerson, you or Molly then things are better. But there are times… there are still times when it’s hard.”

Greg patted him on the shoulder. “We are always here for you, you know that.”

“I know and it makes it easier.” He smiled, meeting Greg’s gaze. His arm dropped and they both put up their usual ‘bloke’ emotional guards again. “Anyway, how are you and Molly?”

At this Greg smiled and looked at her. “We’re taking it slowly, one day at a time but she’s…” He sighed and shook his head. “She’s worth it. I don’t question what she see’s in me - I’m only glad she see’s something she likes.”

“You’re a good man, Greg,” John told him. “And it’s good to see you both so happy, it’s already been a pretty rough year or so for all of us and it’s nice to see something like this happen.”

“Yeah, well, let’s hope things continue this way.” He smiled, looking once again at Molly with a look John recognised.

***  
“Thank you, Molly.” He kept his voice low so that he didn’t have to use his Norwegian accent. John and Lestrade were very much out of earshot and neither of them noticed when he slipped the bag Molly had handed him over the back of the sofa for later.

“It’s fine really. Just unexpected and I didn’t know what you wanted so I picked a few different things.” She explained, some of her old familiar nervousness present but only because of the subject matter.

“How much was it?” he asked her.

“It doesn’t matter really, it’s, it’s good that you two finally are whatever it is you are.” She explained, quickly looking to John then back again.

“Mycroft’s paying anyway, I left everything to John but he barely touches it.” He was offering more because he knew John would be furious if she’d spent as much as he suspected she had and he didn’t reimburse her.

That and really he was already too indebted to her as it was, he didn’t want to make it a financial debt as well.

“It’s a gift really, for both of you.”

“Molly, you really don’t have to.” He was serious and he hoped she understood that.

“I know, but I meant it when I said what’s happened between you two is a good thing. And I like being one of the first to know about it - the first you’ve told anyway.” She raised her eyes in the direction of whatever cameras and sensors she knew were there.

Sherlock smiled at her, Moriarty had been an idiot to discount her but he would always be glad of it.

“And now Greg knows why I’ve been quiet about who I’ve been talking to. I mean, when this is all sorted there will be the rest to tell him but at least for now he’ll be fine.

_Ah, she’s still nervous._ Sherlock could see it now he knew what to look for.

“I’ll tell him myself if I have to - or John can, he’s probably going to be much better at it than me. But he’s already telling Mrs Hudson… don’t think he’s going to be very pleased if he has to tell everyone.” He was thinking out loud and Molly chuckled. She looked genuinely relaxed and it suited her.

“He won’t be angry, he’ll probably be upset that he’s been left out but he’ll understand. He is sorry.”

Sherlock shrugged, “It doesn’t matter, Moriarty knew what he was doing and John tells me that Lestrade has more than made up for what happened. I know he’s been helping clear my name. It doesn’t matter to me, but it means a lot to John and that’s what’s important. Even if he does insist on writing about our cases in the hopes of one day publishing them.” He knew she wouldn’t read any thing into that, that she’d know he didn’t care whether John wrote them or not, as long as he was happy and Sherlock had his work.

“I know, so does he.”

Sherlock hummed his agreement.

“Let me know how it works out, I don’t need the details.” She wrinkled her nose to make her point. “And as embarrassing as it might be, if you need anything else let me know.”

“Thank you, I will.”

***  
Lestrade and Molly stayed for dinner and a movie, John and Sherlock relinquished the sofa and watched with light conversation between the four of them. Sherlock’s accent when he was Sigerson was at least familiar by now but the way he sat and everything else was so different to normal it sometimes took John a moment to remember.

He was sorry to say goodbye to his friends but at the same time - as was becoming a familiar sensation - He wanted it to be just him and Sherlock again. 

“So, what was it Molly brought for you?” John asked as they sat together dressed for bed but drinking tea. His tone was light but he was curious, in all honesty he was now starting to think it was some rare book or something along those lines.

“Just some things we might need while I’m here,” Sherlock told him, his attention suddenly focussed on the coffee table. He sounded normal enough though.

John was tired so once again he chose not to press him, as long as questionable things didn’t start appearing in his fridge it would wait.

“Alright, well all I need right now is a good nights sleep. Bed?”

Sherlock put down his empty mug and smiled. “Yes.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Their room changing to a double room at Dartmoore was done because there is a track called 'Double room' on the soundtrack to season 2.


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter finally earns the story it's M rating, if that's not your thing you will know when to stop reading.

When John woke the next morning, Sherlock was flat on his back next to him. HIs head rested on the pillows as he started up at the ceiling seemingly waiting for whatever answers it held.

“Everything okay?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbow.

Sherlock took a while to answer him, his brain probably waiting for the current thought process to be finished before registering John’s voice. He was feeling particularly patient that morning so he just waited.

“Things are fine, John, I just need to think.” He told him, reaching his hand over to take John’s. He hadn’t been expecting affection and it took him by surprise.

“Alright, well I’ll go make breakfast. Want anything?”

“Tea.” And the hand holding his squeezed and let go. “I’m almost finished but I’d leave it ten minutes before you put the kettle on.”

John nodded, slid out of bed and headed for the bathroom before heading to the kitchen. Sherlock needed time alone, although he had doubtless been awake for the last couple of hours deep in thought. Being holed up with John in such close quarters probably wasn’t helping if there was something on his mind.

He checked his phone once he was in the kitchen, two texts of thanks from Molly for a lovely evening and a security report from Mycroft just letting him know everything was still fine. 

It was still odd to receive those texts - even if it had been a common occurrence for the past year or so, but then living in what was effectively a safe house was always going to feel a little unusual. 

Sherlock appeared just as the tea reached a drinkable temperature and although there still appeared to be something on his mind he also looked as though he had come up with the solution to whatever it was.

***

Sherlock had spent most of the day in John’s lap or lying over it as he finished his book and watched the Olympics. John’s hand continued to find it’s way into Sherlock’s hair without thought and it certainly seemed to be appreciated - if the little hum of noise he made every now and again was any indication. 

Sherlock seemed to be waiting for him to get to the end of his book but didn’t outright say so. It was unusual as he would normally ruin the end of it and demand attention…. but then most of the last week he’d been doing the unexpected so maybe this was just another one of those things.

John finished the last page, satisfied enough with the ending but more glad to have it over with. Most of his attention had been focussed on Sherlock anyway and the book was just something to do.

“Has this got anything to do with whatever you were thinking about this morning?” John asked, looking down at him and moving black curls out of his face.

“Yes.” He rolled over, dislodging John’s hand as he laid himself down with his head close to John’s crotch. 

He curled himself around John as best as possible, arms and knees resting at his side. Rather unhelpfully though he didn’t offer any further information so John was just left sat there, unable to ignore just how close Sherlock was to him.

With very little choice available to him John returned his hand to Sherlock’s hair, carding his fingers through black curls and he watched as Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered open and closed with the movement.

“Given there’s nothing in the fridge that shouldn’t be there and all the texts from Mycroft tell us things are fine, I’m not sure why telling me about it would be a problem.” he said, feeling Sherlock pull his legs closer to John’s body. “Sherlock.” It was said half in warning and half in concern. This behaviour he was used to, not in this context, but it was familiar none the less. 

_Stubborn, silent Sherlock. Fantastic._

“I’m not supposed to tell you,” Sherlock said finally, opening his eyes but not really looking at anything other than the button and zip of John’s jeans right in front of him.

“Did Molly give you advice about something again? Tact isn’t always the answer you know.” John’s voice was soft and fond.

“No, in this instance I’m sure Molly would agree with you.” He sounded annoyed and a little frustrated. John moved his other hand to Sherlock’s face and brushed his fingers over his cheek bones. He barely noticed the tremor that went through Sherlock the first time but the second time it was clearer. 

John swallowed and the hand still in Sherlock’s hair tightened. He didn’t say anything but also made no move to stop him so John continued. His hand left Sherlock’s face and slid down his arm then around his back, he rubbed up and down in a slow massage with enough pressure for Sherlock to feel it. He could feel fingers dig into his side with each stroke, the silk of Sherlock’s shirt allowing easy and steady movements. He wanted to go lower and he was pretty sure Sherlock did too. He didn’t, though, because as old fashioned as it sounded he had always felt it was a little crass and forward to go straight for someones arse when there were other, better activities to engage in.

“You’ll be more comfortable up here,” he said quietly, recognising the similarity between this and Sherlock’s actions the other day.

He moved and John let his hands fall to the side as Sherlock rearranged himself, one leg either side of John’s and resting on his thighs. His hands went straight for John’s shoulders and he leaned in as John’s arms went around him and pulled him close.

“Are you sure?” Sherlock asked and it felt like a dozen questions all being asked at once. His answer to all of them was yes so John just nodded, resting his hand against Sherlock’s and raising his eyes he met the ones already staring at him.

He caught the intense gaze for a moment before Sherlock’s lips pressed against his and John’s eyes closed on their own. He pulled Sherlock closer, enough that their chests were pressed together and he could feel the rise and fall of their breathing against each other, then he opened his mouth to Sherlock’s. 

It was the same but it was different.

Sherlock pressed harder, his tongue moved against John’s with more purpose than before and John knew he had been right in his assumptions of Sherlock’s behaviour. This was what he had wanted but couldn’t ask for. John wanted to tell him that of course he would have said yes, that he would never deny Sherlock anything… but maybe that had been why he couldn’t ask, he needed it to be wanted on both sides and not a request made by one to the other.

Sherlock pressed deeper into John’s mouth and his head lulled back against the sofa in response. His hands moved along Sherlock’s back again but they gripped and held on tighter the closer they moved together.

John was almost panting for breath when Sherlock’s mouth slid away from his and his head came to rest on John’s good shoulder. He wanted to ask why now? But suspected he already knew, even he could work that out.

Sherlock had been reluctant to go any further than they had previously, then he’d been adamant about asking Molly to bring something(s) over and now he seemed more than willing to push what they had beyond their current boundaries. Sherlock wanted to do this properly and with nothing to stop him regardless of how far it did or didn’t get. Which, John supposed, was a very Sherlock way of waiting for the right moment.

“Stop thinking. It’s distracting,” Sherlock said, voice lower but breathing more settled than it had been. He didn’t wait for a reply, just pulled John’s collar away from his neck and placed three open mouthed kisses in a line to the crook of his neck. Then he sucked and John felt the air leave his lungs as one hand slipped up Sherlock’s back, hooked under his arm and cradled his head. His other hand stayed gripped around Sherlock’s waist as he shuddered and felt. Sherlock had to know what that particular spot did to him, this wasn’t an experiment.

John shifted forwards and Sherlock slid against him and it was now enough for them to be flush together all the way down to John’s lap. The attention to his neck stopped and was replaced by hot and hasty breaths against his already tingling skin. John took the chance and tipped his head forward, for now choosing to ignore how wonderful it felt to have Sherlock pressed up and close to him and instead pressed his lips just below Sherlock’s ear.

He tensed and John did it again, mimicking Sherlock’s earlier movements whilst keeping a gentle hold on him. John felt Sherlock shudder, felt it go right through him and he wanted to follow it all the way down. But it was clear the attention was appreciated where it was and Sherlock’s arms tightened around him - sliding between him and the sofa - so John continued. He could feel Sherlock’s pulse speed up against his tongue and one of them was moaning softly.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he noted how not different this was to his experiences with women. The only change was that this was Sherlock Holmes, the man who his life revolved around and visa versa probably.

“John,” Sherlock breathed, voice low and deep all over again. 

He relented, just a little, but kept his nose pressed against Sherlock’s throat as his hand that had rested on Sherlock’s waist went lower and his fingers slipped inside his belt hoops.

“Hmm?” Was the only response he managed, his hands gripped tighter and he realised he was fighting the urge to flip them over so that Sherlock was beneath him and his he was honest, preferably wearing less clothes. He didn’t feel nervous about it and he wasn’t worrying about what would or wouldn’t happen afterwards, he wanted this, wanted Sherlock now and of course Sherlock would choose that moment to start talking to him.

“We should move. To your bedroom, preferably,” Sherlock said and John closed his eyes at the sound of his voice and swallowed and forced himself to keep his hips still which proved difficult when all of his senses were filled with Sherlock. “John?”

“Yes, yes just give me a minute.” He wasn’t sure his legs would hold him up if he didn’t wait a bit first. He’d felt like this only a couple of times in his life and it had always been wonderful but this was so much more. 

He realised that it probably always was when you found _that_ person and his would happen to be Sherlock Holmes. Maybe Sherlock was right and this had been inevitable… or maybe they were just incredibly lucky.

When he finally sat back Sherlock was looking at him, clearly wanting him to move but not making any effort to do so himself. His pupils were blown wide and his hair was ruffled, John leaned in automatically and pressed his lips against Sherlock’s. He swallowed back a moan at the contact and pressed harder, Sherlock’s tongue brushed past his where their mouths met but he was tempering the pace, settling John’s racing heart and soothing his insistent need.

It was just a little and just enough that when Sherlock pulled back again with slightly swollen lips and eyes still dark, John had a clear enough sense of purpose to let go of Sherlock and let him stand.

He held out his hand to John as he did and the daylight shone out from behind him casting him almost in shadow and for a moment he could do nothing but stare.

“You don’t have to, we don’t have to,” Sherlock told him, hand still welcoming his.

John took it and stood, resisting the urge to adjust himself in his trousers because they would likely be removed soon anyway. And it wasn’t as if there was any point hiding it from Sherlock, he’d had plenty of proof about what was there anyway, plus it wasn’t as if he wasn’t in the same state himself. 

“No, we don’t have to but we’re going to anyway,” he told him and met Sherlock’s gaze. There was a rueful smile on his face that said he hadn’t been expecting that response. So, while he had his full attention John said something else. “You already know I love you, you know how much and in what way and I know you love me too - even if you won’t say it in as many words.” Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but John shook his head to stop him and he felt Sherlock’s fingers tighten around his instead. “But I trust you, too. Down dark alleys, in taxi’s, when you’re out there and I can’t be with you and This, Now. I know sentiment must still bother you, even if you feel it yourself. But I’m not doing this for sentimental reasons, I’m doing this because I want to and it’s you asking and I am always, always going to trust and follow you.”

Sherlock pulled him forwards fast and before there was time to stumble or recover, Sherlock’s tongue was against his and his lips were pressed tightly against John’s. Sherlock’s free hand wound around him and held on tight as John surrendered, keening and moaning against Sherlock.

He released him almost as fast a minute or so later and once again the only contact between them was their clenched hands.

“I love you,” Sherlock said, voice low and eyes glossy in the light. “I didn’t think I needed to say it but I do.” 

John nodded and smiled and watched Sherlock’s warm and honest smile in return.

“Come on then, come to bed.”

***  
It was strange doing this with the daylight streaming through his curtains. He was so used to the cover of darkness that for a moment he just stood there staring at Sherlock next to him.

“If it makes you uncomfortable we can try my room, at least there are black out blinds.” There was no venom or hurt in his words but he was looking away from John again.

“That’s not, it’s just not what… nothing I say is going to do me any favours is it?” He sighed and reached for Sherlock, not wanting to let go of the mood that had brought them here. “Will you please just look at me.” He knew then at least Sherlock would see that he was nervous not just because it was different but because it was them - Sherlock and John - in his bedroom in daylight, together. Whereas only a few minutes before he was too far gone to care, now he was thinking again.

Sherlock finally met his eyes again and John left himself open, let him see everything he could and couldn’t say before hopefully their baser instincts took over again. 

Sherlock nodded and stepped away, closing and locking the door behind him -John knew it was to make him feel more secure and he appreciated it - he then started unbuttoning his shirt facing John although his attention was fixed on his buttons. His blue silk shirt slipped from his shoulders easily and Sherlock placed it on the chair next to the wardrobe. There were no shoes to remove, only his socks which he took off next, leaning down and exposing his back as he did so.

It was nothing John hadn’t seen before but this time it all held a different meaning, John was allowed more than just the sight of him. He could reach out and touch him and hold him and he was so caught up in the watching and wanting that he forgot to do anything else.

Sherlock’s smile when he looked up at him was fond, more so with his hair so ruffled and out of place and his neck pink where John had been pressed against it just a short while ago. The memory went straight to his cock and without thinking he finally moved to adjust himself. He bit back a moan and realised that Sherlock had seen it and his eyes flicked down to his crotch then back to his face. 

“I could undress you myself but it would be far more efficient if you do it yourself.” He seemed to choke on the words, hands itching to reach for John but waiting, waiting for the lack of a barrier.

John nodded and set to work, unbuttoning his shirt one handed whist unhooking the one on his jeans with the other. Sherlock looked on in amusement and surprise. He was close enough to reach out to him if he wanted but so far he hadn’t. John would have told him that he’d gotten pretty good at stripping quickly both in the bedroom and the army but he was too busy trying not to look as Sherlock removed his trousers and then stood there in nothing but a pair of black silk boxer shorts tenting with his obvious arousal.

John wondered what he saw in return, stood as he was in white cotton boxers, scarred and waiting. There was light hair on his chest where Sherlock had none and his face was likely red with embarrassment. It would seem that he was never too old for that feeling.

Sherlock reached out to him then, finally, one hand came up to cup his face and the other slid around bare skin. He leaned in and kissed him, just a press of lips on lips before repeating the gesture as John wound his arms around Sherlock’s frame. His skin tingled at every point of contact, his nerves suddenly hyper aware of who it was holding and that he wanted more.

Sherlock’s tongue was running along the seal of his lips so John parted them. He felt Sherlock sigh against him as his tongue joined John’s and he tilted his head for better access, locking their mouths together as a moan rumbled from John’s throat and he keened forwards. His hands moved lower and over Sherlock’s arse.  
It was firm, which was to be expected given how little he ate and how much running around he did. It felt wonderful when he squeezed, not hard but just enough to push them flush against each other. Their heights meant they didn’t quite line up all the way but the pressure was still good and the contact they did manage was worth it. He arched forwards again and the hand still gripping his head held tighter and Sherlock’s other arm held them closer as they rocked against each other.

That thin layer of silk hid nothing and John moved a hand between them to palm Sherlock through his boxers.

“John,” Sherlock growled as he broke away from the kiss, his hips still canted forwards though. John wasn’t doing much better but he stepped back, catching the murderous gaze Sherlock shot at him at the lack of close contact, but he ignored it and instead tugged him onto the bed with him.

He threw back the covers just enough to get them both comfortably settled, Sherlock beneath him and both of them finally lined up so that when John moved their erections brushed together and the two layers of fabric didn’t feel like much of a barrier at all.

Sherlock’s head was thrown back against the pillows and his eyes were clenched closed. His chest rose and fell fast and a thin film of perspiration covered his chest.

“Too Much?” John asked, breathless and shaking as he held himself above Sherlock.

“No, I’m just not used to it.” He reached up for John, clamping his hands on his waist as he rocked upwards and moaned, open mouthed and beautiful. John leaned down and moulded his mouth against Sherlock’s, breathing him in in between the messy kisses that passed between them.

It wasn’t really so different, John reasoned, just slightly altered mechanics and at least there was a definite indication of how well it was going.

Sherlock’s hands then started pulling at their boxer shorts and John shifted to help him, pulling them all the way down, off and away. He could see Sherlock’s erection straining up to meet his again and his heart thudded in anticipation, rolling onto his side he took Sherlock with him.

“This should be easier,” he breathed, moving his hand down between them and taking hold of Sherlock’c cock in his hand. It was slightly longer than his and although substantial it wasn’t quite the same thickness. Besides his own it was the first he’d held whilst erect but he still didn’t feel as though he was at a disadvantage, this was after all an even playing field and he knew what felt good to him - might as well start with that and then experiment a little. 

“C-can I?” Sherlock asked, forehead moving forwards to press against John’s. He didn’t sound nervous, just breathless and John kissed him before answering.

“Yes.” Then Sherlock’s hand was there, wrapped around him and pulling in an upward stroke before sinking back down again to the base. John knew he was moaning but he didn’t care, caught unawares and unable to do more than hold Sherlock in his hand for a moment before it all came back to him.

“John?” Sherlock asked, although his voice was really more of a rumble. John looked at him as Sherlock’s hand moved again , only this time he made sure to mimic the motion on Sherlock. 

“John I’m not… this isn’t going to last long.” John smiled and let out an amused sound as he breathed. _Sherlock was still as blunt as ever, then._

“Right. Okay.” He stilled his hand and gripped the base, if Sherlock was as close as he said he was it would be best to put a brief hold on the inevitable. 

“Is it?” Sherlock asked looking concerned. It took John’s mind a moment to understand the question and his heart stuttered for a second as he realised what he meant.

“Yes Sherlock, god yes. Everything else we can do later, this, this - oh god - this counts,” John told him and Sherlock nodded, seeming to understand.

Sherlock’s free hand then between John and the mattress, pulling them closer as their legs wound together and their hands on each others erections brushed as they began moving again.

John didn’t look between them, instead he wanted to see Sherlock’s face, wanted to watch as he came undone but Sherlock wouldn’t meet his gaze. He kept closing his eyes in something that was more than just pleasure.

“Let me look at you,” John panted, voice as gentle as possible when he felt a few strokes from coming. 

Sherlock shook his head, just a little but just enough. “You’ll be able to see everything.”

“I- I already have,” John told him, letting his free hand scoot up the sheets to Sherlock’s collar bone

“No. You don’t - it’s just like the first night. You’ll be able to see everything, John. I can’t not show you if you’re looking at me, not like this -Ah -Oh - there’ll be no barriers, you’ll see all of it.” He sounded afraid, but that could have had a lot to do with their actions. John could also feel him start to tense but his eyes were clamped shut.

“You see me all the time, I already love you, nothing is going to change that,” John said, but really he was already willing to leave it alone. Sex was intense enough anyway without overwhelming your partner and there would be other times to watch him come undone and the barrier drop.

Sherlock’s hand on him was erratic but it didn’t matter. John could feel his orgasm building and knew Sherlock was almost there himself. He felt Sherlock’s erection start to pulse in his hand and continued stroking throughout. His head was thrown back and his lips were swollen and parted in a soundless gasp. He looked beautiful even with his eyes closed and it was a little bit brilliant to see him that way.

John removed his hand, wiping it on the sheet. Sherlock’s own had stilled on John but now moved again and John couldn’t help but groan as he arched into him and closed his eyes for a moment, opening them to find Sherlock staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. If he had to guess he would say fascination but he was too caught up to really think about it.

John felt the mounting slow burn become too much and after another few firm strokes he came, still moving against Sherlock and not really aware of what he was saying.. His attention seemed riveted on Sherlock who was focussed on John as if he was the only thing that mattered or even existed. His eyes were intense in their focus and looked right into his own. Sherlock looked at John as if he was precious, more important or vital than any case before or in their future. But, John realised as he started to come down from his orgasm, he also looked sad and even afraid. Not vulnerable, but like a man who had seen and known (too much fear and too much sadness) and couldn’t bear to do it again.

John knew Sherlock must have seen most - if not all of that in John’s but wondered why he’d chosen to look at him when he had been so determined not to.

“Couldn’t resist in the end,” Sherlock told him, answering his silent question. He rolled over briefly, still managing to keep his legs entwined with John’s and grabbed a towel out of the draw. He cleaned them and the bed as best as possible before discarding the towel and pulling John completely against him, he complied happily and slid his arms around Sherlock’s back.

“Didn’t want to miss how you looked when you came,” Sherlock said against John’s hair. He still sounded breathless but certainly more content as his deep baritone ran through John’s skin and left a pleasant tingling all over.

“And I got to see you anyway.” John smiled against Sherlock’s chest and on impulse kissed him, noting the lack of hair and goosebumps that appeared at his touch.

They lay there sharing each others space for a few more minutes and John’s thoughts rearranged themselves as he remembered something Sherlock had said about not wanting John to see everything he kept so well hidden. He’d avoided looking at him before. “Just like the first night? Of this visit?” He asked, knowing to anyone else it wouldn’t make sense but Sherlock would know what he meant and he nodded, brushing John’s forehead with his chin.

“That’s why you wouldn’t look at me,” John stated, knowing he was right. “I thought it was because you didn’t want to cheat. That deducing my answers without hearing them wouldn’t be fair, but it wasn’t was it? You didn’t want me to read you…” John sighed as he trailed off.

“This early on I thought it would be too much, I know you saying it will all be fine, that we’ll work it out but I still -” Sherlock paused for a moment and although John wanted to shift backwards to look at him he didn’t. “We both know this isn’t my area at all.” He paused again. “I can’t lose you again, John,” he said finally.

“I know,” John admitted quietly. “I can’t lose you either.” _Not again._

Their arms tightened around each other and they lay in silence again until John decided to change the mood before it got too heavy. “Your area or not, that was pretty good though.” He looked up then and Sherlock was smiling.

“Understating the facts doesn’t suit you, John.” It was meant in jest and John chuckled, shaking his head against the pillow underneath them both.

“Brilliant then, fantastic even.” And he kissed him again; slow, languid and even softly. If he had ever considered kissing Sherlock before this (Which he actually hadn’t) then soft was not a word he would have associated with it. But he was just as tender in his affections as he sometimes was with his words.

The rest of the world didn’t get to see this, but that was fine because everyone had a hidden side, but John knew this was a privilege and that no one else would ever be this close to Sherlock. But then again no one had really been this close to John and he too had his own guard in place that he had only dropped for Sherlock. 

They were the same and they were different all at the same time but they completed each other and it was more than either of then had ever hoped to ask for.

***  
“What are you doing?” John asked as he opened his eyes to find himself still lying across Sherlock in the late afternoon sunlight. Sherlock’s arms were resting on John’s back and he could hear the gentle tap of his fingers upon his phone screen.

“Texting Molly.” 

“Do I want to know why?” John groaned, hoping he wasn’t doing what he thought he was doing.

“Yes.” His phone buzzed and he started another reply. John elbowed him lightly in the side which was a bit awkward from that angle but well worth the disgruntled grunt he got in return.

“Sherlock,” he said it as a warning and looked up to see him chuckling.

“She just wanted to know if and when something happened and specified no details. I wouldn’t normally think it was anyone else's business but she wouldn’t let Mycroft pay her for the supplies and the only thing she wanted was an update and so I didn’t think it would hurt.

John could only blink at him. “Mycroft?”

“Well I can hardly use my own money, can I? And he wouldn’t have known what it was for. Anyway it doesn’t matter, she said they were a present.” Sherlock looked indignant and a tiny bit sheepish.

“Molly brought us condoms and lube as a present?” He’d known she had bought them - even knew about her best wishes for them but that was more than a bit odd.

“I did think it was a little strange,” Sherlock admitted. “Want to see?” John pushed himself off Sherlock and regretted the distance almost instantly… then berating himself internally for thinking it.

Sherlock noticed and sat himself up so that John could shuffle up next to him and pulled the sheet up after wards to stop the chill in the air from forcing them to get dressed.

Sherlock pulled open what had now become his bedside drawer and John noted that there had also been a towel in there that had been used to clean them up an hour or so before. He was impressed with the amount of effort Sherlock had put into it.

“Here.” He handed John the 3 bottles of lubricant and a couple of boxes of condoms. “There’s a few more of each in the draw.’ He pulled it al the way open and John looked over him and eyed the content with a nod.

“Sensible choices all round, by the looks of it, and nothing flavoured. That is a lot of condoms though,” John admitted, looking and feeling a little flustered. He didn’t mention the brand choice - it was already clear that no expense had been spared… he did wonder whether or not she’d have been embarrassed though. He handed everything back to Sherlock who shoved it all back into the drawer then closed it firmly. He pulled John against him again and looped his arms around his waist.

“She said she was less embarrassed than buying them for herself, but was worried Mycroft might have been watching,” Sherlock admitted.

“Would he have been?” John asked, shifting around to find a more comfortable position.

“Unlikely, and if he was I’m sure he’d have questions for Lestrade before he came to us about it.”

John laughed at the image of Lestrade having to describe his sex life with Molly to Mycroft and what they did and didn’t do.

“I wouldn’t, however, be surprised if he sends something similar hidden in your next shopping order.

John froze. “I couldn’t use them.”

Sherlock actually shuddered. “No, me neither.”

“What do you want to do now then?” John asked. He didn’t particularly want to move but he could tell Sherlock was getting restless.

“Hm. A shower would probably be a good idea.” He looked down at John who looked right at him, the edges of his mouth were curled into a small smile.

“Good idea.” Sherlock let him go and John got up from the bed. “Come on then,” he added, then unable to resist the the look Sherlock was giving him he held out his hand. Sherlock took it and allowed John to lead him to the bathroom.

***  
After their long shared shower they slipped back into pyjamas and took up their usual places on the sofa. Sherlock didn’t bother with a book or even the pretence of watching the television, instead he took his time watching John (as he pretended not to noticed the attention) and catalogued everything he saw. He was laid across John, head resting on the side of the sofa next to them and John’s hand wove in and out of he hair whilst the other laid on Sherlock’s stomach. Sherlock brought his hand to rest on John’s every now and again but mostly he just watched.

It was finally dark outside and they’d likely return to bed again (John had changed the sheets after their shower) and though he didn’t think he was ready for round three he would be willing to try if that was what Sherlock wanted.

“Anything else you want to do for the next week or so?” John asked, a little curious as to whether it was back to the olympics or a week in bed.

“I don’t particularly want to leave your flat, but, for appearances sake we probably should…. I only have two more days worth of tickets left anyway and Sigerson has done enough sightseeing to make sure we don’t have to do that again.” He paused and looked at John. “Do you have to go back to work? Can’t you just take some more time off and work on your book?” He sounded disgruntled and looked put out by the thought of John not being there with him. Sherlock refused, it seemed, to say anything even remotely like ‘please don’t leave me here without you.’ but the meaning was there all the same.

The lack of time together before their separation was taking it’s toll.

John could have said ‘you don’t like my book’ or any other sort of comment to brush it off. He could have pointed out how suspicious it sounded if he suddenly took more time off but with Sigerson still there it would just look like him spending more time with his friend.

He sighed. “I’ll see what I can do. You don’t actually want me to touch the book, though, do you.” It wasn’t a question. Sherlock shook his head and smiled, just a little, enough to remind John that he was happy and that he wanted as much as this as possible before he had to leave again.

***  
Two more days of sporting events - track this time - though John hadn’t enjoyed it as much as the womans beach volley ball… it was still good to experience something he would likely only see once in his life time. Mycroft had been unable to get them tickets to the opening ceremony and John, in all honesty, wouldn’t have wanted to go anyway. 

He and Sherlock had spent their time at home getting better acquainted and all round better at how things in the bedroom worked between them.

John knew the basics and how to find the prostate (he was a doctor after all) but that was thrown into a whole new context when there was a writhing and moaning Sherlock Holmes on the receiving end of his ministrations. But then Sherlock was a context all of his own regardless of the situation.

He’d woken the morning after the closing ceremony to a Sherlock once again texting but this time he was sprawled over him rather than under.

“Please tell me you’re not updating Molly again,” John grumbled, rubbing sleep from his eye with his only free hand as Sherlock had the other trapped.

Sherlock smirked and John felt his face flush.

“She said she wasn’t interested in the details and since she already knows the basics of what we’ve been doing I don’t think she’ll appreciate a detailed update.” Sherlock kissed his shoulder and glared at his phone when it beeped again.

“Who is it, then?” John asked, stroking his free hand down and along Sherlock’s spine. Sherlock pressed his body closer and hummed in appreciation.

“Mycroft,” he said at last, his fingers moving over the screen of the phone faster than John could keep up with. At last he pressed seemed and locked the phone screen, putting it down on the bedside table with more force than he really needed.

“What does he want?” John asked and Sherlock shifted himself over to be properly in John’s hold and wrapped his arms underneath John’s shoulders to hold on.

“He’s coming over this afternoon. I didn’t have much choice.” He sounded aggravated and John moved his hands up and down his back trying to soothe him. Sherlock buried his head in John’s shoulder but continued to talk. “He said it’s important and he needs to speak to both of us.”

“And he didn’t say what about,” John said. Sherlock’s annoyance at being kept waiting was obvious but at least he was choosing to stay close to him rather than storming out.

“He’s being dramatic and with-holding on purpose to make a show of whatever he’s going to say,” Sherlock grumbled in annoyance and John stepped up his massage.

He didn’t want Mycroft there, for all he was grateful for everything he had done for him - for them - it didn’t seem as though he ever did things out of the good of his heart. A lot if it was an apology and a way of making it up to them but there was no doubt he had his won motives too.

“It’s the feud,” Sherlock said, arms tightening around John’s shoulders.

“Feud?”

“You think that all of this would make him forget? He’s still my arch nemesis.”

John laughed and his chest shook, jostling Sherlock who in turn laughed with him.

“How long do we have?” John asked, wanting, really to at least embarrass Mycroft a little bit. He would know what they had been up to anyway but he would expect them to hide it.

“Three hours,” Sherlock said before pressing his lips to John’s throat.

“Plenty of time.” John breathed out in response when Sherlock opened his mouth and started to suck lightly at John’s neck.

***


	4. Part 4

Mycroft arrived with as much flare as three flights of stairs and an entrance hall could grant him. When he arrived he did so with his umbrella in hand and an extra coat over his arm. He looked John up and down and locked the door after shaking his head.

“Really, John, it will take more than a shower to wash that off,” he commented as he strolled past him and into the front room.

Sherlock was already sat waiting for him on the sofa and John sat down next to him. They kept a small distance between them but were still sat close together, more so than they would have done before. Mycroft looked between them and his expression was somewhere between peeved and amused. By now he would have realised that they were making their earlier activities obvious, but Sherlock and John shared a look between them and laughed quietly before turning their attention to him.

“I’ll skip the pleasantries, shall I.”

“I can’t say I can ever remember you being pleasant, Mycroft,” Sherlock commented and it was suddenly such a familiar thing to see that John couldn’t help but smile.

“Hmm.” Was Mycroft’s only response and for a moment it seemed as though he and Sherlock were having a staring contest. “Very well then. Last night was the closing ceremony of the olympic games. A successful event by all reports and one that went off almost without incident.”

“Oh?” John asked in the tone he usually used with Mycroft - the one that told him he wasn’t impressed.

“Nothing has been reported, of course, but then it wouldn’t be. This incident doesn’t concern the general public, at least not for now.”

“Get on with it, Mycroft.” Sherlock warned, but his brother only raised his eyebrows in reply.

“Sebastian Moran was apprehended last night for an assassination attempt on three of the specially invited guests. He was wounded but remains in custody. Needless to say he won’t be going anywhere anytime soon, the list of charges against him is rather a long one.” Mycroft stopped speaking and looked between the two of them. Sherlock was staring directly at his brother and didn’t seem aware of anything else. If John didn’t know better he would say that Sherlock was furious, but it seemed to go beyond that.

“I thought you would be pleased,” Mycroft said, but even John could tell that he wasn’t.

“What. Did. You. Do. Mycroft?” John asked, pacing his words as his anger rose.

“I merely got rid of the problem,” Mycroft told him. “He wasn’t just a threat to Sherlock or yourself, we have been after Moran for a very long time.”

Sherlock continued to stare at his brother for a few moments longer before he finally spoke. His voice was cold and firm when he did. “You have ten minutes to explain this to John and then you will leave.”

“Really Sherlock-”

“No. Ten minutes then leave.” He turned to John. “Two hours. I’ll be in the spare room.” Then he stood, walking straight past them both and into John’s room (to collect his violin) before closing the door to the spare room with a fierce slam once he was inside. The flat shook with the movement but neither John nor Mycroft paid it any attention.

John glanced at the kitchen clock before looking to Mycroft. “Nine minutes, come on then. What, who, when and why?”

Mycroft looked very much like he didn’t want to answer, as though it were below him, but he started to talk anyway. “Sebastian Moran was the only one left, Sherlock had tracked or taken down the others. They had all been dealt with relatively easily but Moran is a specially trained assassin with a dismissal from the army and a long string of crimes to his name.” Mycroft sighed, further emphasising how much of a waste of time he thought this was. “He was an associate of Moriarty, kept at a distance of course, but he always tried to get himself closer to him and so, after Moriarty’s death he made sure to carry out his final orders.”

“And they were?” John asked, noticing half the time was gone and he didn’t want Mycroft to stall and avoid telling him the truth.

“To kill you, if Sherlock lived, and of course to then kill my brother.” Mycroft was using his ‘isn’t it obvious?’ expression but John wasn’t paying too much attention to it. “But we did a good job in keeping Sherlock’s continuing existence a secret so Moran has been taking other jobs.” 

“And one of those was last night.”

“Yes. Moran was the last threat and with him now gone Sherlock can come out of hiding whenever he decides to. Or you can both stay here or escape to one of the family’s country estates for as long as you wanted to.”

John stayed silent, half relieved, half seething in a quiet rage. He didn’t exactly know what he was angry about but somehow Mycroft’s actions had hurt Sherlock and if felt as though he had been denied something.  
That they both had.

“Two minutes, Mycroft.”

“Your writing and our gathered evidence is enough to clear Sherlock in a few news reports and a couple of days. You can have your lives back.”

“And that’s it? It’s all over and we just walk back out into the world and carry on as normal?”

“I would hardly consider your lives normal.” He gave John a tight lipped smile that John wanted to wipe from his face.

“Well, it is for us.”

“Hm. Quite. You can have your old flat and your lives back John. Surely that’s better than all of this.” He stood, took his coat and umbrella but didn’t seem quite ready to leave just yet. “He will no doubt see this as another betrayal but this now makes us even. Your rent is paid until the end of September, both here and at Baker street, but you have more than enough money now so you shouldn’t have to worry about that.”

“I’ve barely touched it, he can take it back.”

“He won’t.” Mycroft waved towards the door. “Perhaps a joint account? To go with your new status. Hm?”

John met his eyes then and let his anger show.

“I suspected that this current development was possible John, but even I didn’t know how or when it would happen.” Then, as if that was answer enough he unlocked the door and closed it behind him.

John stood, locked the door and then collapses back onto the sofa with his head in his hands.

_What the hell were they suppose to do now?_

***  
After another hour and a half the door to the spare room opened again and John could hear Sherlock making his way to the front room. He hadn’t been expected him for another twenty minutes at least. John didn’t know exactly what had been said between the two brothers silent conversation, but he hadn’t needed the talk with Mycroft to know that Sherlock felt betrayed by what had happened.

John didn’t really know what to think about it, it was all too much.

“Please don’t think for a second that I regret what’s happened in the last couple of weeks because I wouldn’t change it, John.” Sherlock sounded as though he’d spent some of his time thinking about what to say and John’s heart warmed. He hadn’t thought that Sherlock would regret it, not even for a moment but he nodded at Sherlock’s apparent concern for his feelings. “And if I could choose I wouldn’t change things, but that doesn’t really change what he did.”

John sighed and looked up at him. “Mycroft said that it was all over, that our old lives are there when we want them.”

“I don’t want our old lives back,” Sherlock said suddenly, he stepped closer and his eyes focussed on John’s. “This,” He said gesturing between them. “Is much better.”

“Sherlock,” John warned.

“I know that’s not what you meant but I wanted for us to be used to this,” he gestured between them, “before going back out there again.” He was stood with his legs pressed to John’s, shoes discarded and shirt then unbuttoned his jacket removed. “Can I?” he asked and John nodded, not really knowing what was going to happen. Sherlock collapsed into his lap and chest and John’s arms went round him automatically.

“I want the work, John, but I wanted this time first so we could be comfortable and settled before going back.”

“We still have weeks left,” John reminded him, although he knew what Sherlock meant. They were now in hiding for the sake of it rather than their own protection.

“We have days, a week at most. He won’t make the first announcement for at least 5 days, he won’t want to overshadow the Olympics and no one will really want to hear about the assassination attempt. He’ll rewrite what happened - make it something else - somewhere else.” Sherlock sighed against John and held onto his shirt.

“We should invite Greg and Molly around again then, before Mycroft does anything. It’s not much but the look on Greg’s face would be priceless. Might also help Molly soften the blow too,” John suggested and Sherlock smiled against his shirt.

“And now you get to tell Mrs Hudson I’m alive.”

“And you get to tell her the rest. I haven’t forgotten, Sherlock,” John warned playfully.

“Still not the same, though,” Sherlock said after a while.

“No, no it’s not,” he agreed, holding tighter. “So 5 days then, maybe a week. I’ll call work and tell them I’m not coming in.” Sherlock held him closer in response but didn’t seem to have anything to add and so they just sat there, holding on and coming to terms with a change in their lives all over again.

***  
“Mycroft threatened us with a joint account.” John told him later when they were in bed with Sherlock and the summer duvet on top of him. Sherlock had been quiet all afternoon, John had called the surgery and told them he wouldn’t be available for at least a little while and they had accepted without too much comment. Then he had taken Sherlock to bed where they had stayed resting quietly together ever since.

“He won’t. He’ll wait for us to do it instead, then claim it was all his idea,” Sherlock told him. “Might be easier though, if pointless because I don’t want any of it back - aside from my Violin and my coat and skull - I see no reason it can’t just be yours.” He looked up at John and shuffled upwards just a little.

“I told him that.”

“I know.” Then he paused and seemed to think about it. “We could though. Really. If neither of us are going to spend it then making it equally ours will make things easier. Could at least use it for the rent and those bills you insist on paying.”

John rolled his eyes at the last part. “Okay, then.” he agreed and Sherlock lifted his head up to kiss him. He took his time and John let his eyes slip closed. It as beginning to sink in that this was more than just something they could do until a certain date because Sherlock didn’t need to leave him this time. This was something more than a joint bank account (although, really, he already knew that part), it was sudden and unexpected but it was better than waiting months for Sherlock to return again - even if Mycroft had gone about it all the wrong way.

“Stop thinking, John.” Sherlock said as he broke the kiss and John couldn’t help but smile at the annoyed expression on his face.

“Sorry.”

***  
“Molly said she and Greg will be around tomorrow evening.” John said, handing Sherlock a fresh mug of tea. “She asked if we needed anything else.” Sherlock looked up with a smirk. “I told her we were fine.”

Sherlock huffed.

“I didn’t feel like embarrassing her when I could tell Greg was there too.” John sat down next to him and sipped his own tea. Sherlock did the same but seemed disinterested.

“We should go and see Mrs Hudson,” he said after a while and John just looked at him.

“Now?” It was only 7 in the evening and given the time of year it would be light outside for the next few hours, but now? It all seemed a bit sudden.

“Yes. Now.” Sherlock stood.

“Sherlock,” John said with clear concern in his voice.

“Ten minutes.” Was the reply as Sherlock left the room and John sighed, falling back into the sofa for a moment before grabbing his oyster card, wallet and keys.

When Sherlock returned he looked like himself, but at the same time at a glance he didn’t and John had to do a double take when he entered the room. He was wearing jeans and a T shirt, no one would really recognise him, especially not if the thought he was dead.

“Hiding in plain sight,” John commented, looking at Sherlock’s hair which he had styled differently than normal, mostly combed back and straighter. “I think I preferred the traffic warden.”

Sherlock smirked and walked over to John, he took his hands and tipped his head down.

“I need to do this, John. Now. I have never liked hiding, I only lasted 5 weeks away from you and I don’t want to keep hiding from everyone else.” He sighed. “As angry as I am with my brother, I’m not just going to sit around waiting if we don’t have to.”

John looked up at him and nodded. “And afterwards?” He asked, not sure if Sherlock wanted to stay at 221B or come back to his flat.

“We can come back here, Mrs Hudson’s going to need a few days and you need to pack. Plus dinner with Lestrade and Molly is going to have to be here.”

“Alright.” John nodded and stepped back, Sherlock released one of his hands but kept hold of the other even when they reached the door. John looked down between then as he locked the door behind them and slipped the keys into his pocket.

“Problem?” Sherlock asked.

“No, no, I just didn’t expect it.” Because Sherlock didn’t strike him as the sort of person to hold someone’s hand. He had said it was a possibility but until now John didn’t actually think it would happen.

“I’m not going to do this all the time, but I see no reason why I shouldn’t. Plus it’ll help with the disguise - you have done nothing but protest how ‘not gay’ you are in the past, who would expect you to be holding another mans hand?” There was no malice behind those words and although John didn’t think Sherlock’s reasoning was particularly convincing given that half the internet and Irene Adler had been convinced he was in love with Sherlock…. He wasn’t about to point any of that out.

“I only protested because it wasn’t true, isn’t, not really,” John said as they started walking towards the stairs in the apartment building.

“Confirmed bachelor, John Watson.” Was Sherlock’s reply but when John looked up at him annoyed, Sherlock only smiled and started laughing and after a moment John joined him.

***  
John had been back to 221B less than a dozen times since ‘the fall’ and although most of them had been after Sherlock’s first visit, it was still hard to be there and he avoided spending too long there before joining Mrs Hudson in 221A.

Sherlock had been right, no one on their tube journey had paid them any attention or recognised them. This was due, in part, to how busy the city was but also because no one within London really seemed to pay any attention to anyone else. It wasn’t always a bad thing and on days like this one it worked in their favour.

They’d taken the walk from Baker Street tube station to 221B at a normal speed but John could feel his heart rate increasing and Sherlock was gripping his hand tighter within his own.

“Do you still have your keys?” Sherlock asked him.

John nodded. “Yeah, Mrs Hudson wouldn’t let me return them, especially since Mycroft insisted on covering the rent. I did wonder why she was never suspicious about him agreeing to pay it indefinitely.”

“He told her that he would keep paying it until you could move back in again. He even promised to keep covering my half even after that, if he needed to.” When John just looked at him he added. “I thought you knew.”

“Not about your half, I never thought about it. Once I knew you were coming back at some point I didn’t worry about who would and wouldn’t pay the rent, I was too busy worrying about when, how and even….” 

“If I would come back,” Sherlock finished for him quietly.

“Yeah.” John coughed and looked away, they had reached the front door by now and Sherlock released John’s hand and stood behind him as he stepped up and opened the door. They stepped inside and John locked the door behind them. “Go on upstairs, give me ten minutes. If I’ve not told her by then I’m going to need your help anyway.”

“I’ll wait outside until I know you’ve told her, text me.” Sherlock then bent and kissed him, lingering longer than he needed before turning and carefully walking up the stairs.

“Mrs Hudson?” John called out, once Sherlock was out of sight. John could tell that he hadn’t gone all of the way up to their flat and was likely sat on the small landing so he could listen to as much as possible of what John was going to say. He doubted Sherlock would be able to hear much though.

“John?” she asked, popping her head around the door. “I thought I heard someone out here, isn’t your friend with you? Sigerson?” She asked, fully stepping out but leaving her door open.

“Ah, can I come in for a chat?” he asked, trying to come up with a good way of explaining this.

“Of course, come on through. Tea?” she offered and he nodded, taking a seat at her kitchen table.

“So, what is it dear? It must be important if you left your friend to come and see me.”

John tried to smile but it came off as more of a cringe. He looked at her for a moment just to make sure she looked well enough and capable of dealing with what he was about to say. Because no matter what Sherlock said about her John didn’t want to take any chances.

“John? Is everything okay?”

“Everything's… well everything’s fine really, better than fine. It’s just… christ. My friend is with me, it’s just that Sigerson isn’t.” He sighed, he was going to make a mess of this no matter what he said. “We just - I’m sorry, Mrs Hudson, I know I’m not making much sense but this is not easy.” He took a deep breath. “It’s about Sherlock.”

Mrs Hudson just looked at him, not shocked or surprised but waiting. “John?”

“He’s um, well he’s not dead. It was all an elaborate plan to protect us. Me, you and Greg and it worked and now all the danger is gone and he can come back. Later on this week it will become official but for now it’s more of a secret - just between him, me, you and a few others.”

Mrs Hudson looked like she didn’t quite know what to say, like she sometimes did when deciding whether or not to berate them for the state of the kitchen. Then the look on her face changed and for a moment it was the last time he had seen her before Sherlock had showed up, the day he had moved out. She had looked sad, so very sorry for him as he had walked out with they key she refused to take back in his hand and barely restrained tears in his eyes.

It disappeared as quickly as it came, though but it left John not knowing what to do or say next. He reached for his phone in the silence but the door behind him opened before he could use it.

“I hope when you write your blog entry, John that you use a little more eloquence in your speech. Hello, Mrs Hudson.” He stood behind John with his hand on his shoulder whilst she stared at them both.

“Sherlock.” She put her hand - now clenched into a fist - against her heart. There were tears brimming in her eyes but she wasn’t crying. “Oh, John.” 

Sherlock gave John’s shoulder a squeeze and then pulled out the chair next to him and sat down. It meant that John could finally get a good look at him and could see that Sherlock had changed his hair back and despite his clothes looked more like himself again.

“We came to let you know that we’re moving back in. Probably within the next two weeks, once Mycroft has sorted out all of the necessary press and paperwork. We will take over paying the rent again, but this time we’ll use the room upstairs for storage.” He looked and sounded disappointed by the fact that they couldn’t extort Mycroft for their rent, which didn’t make any sense unless you factored in the feud. But John knew that all Sherlock was trying to tell her was the new state of their relationship. 

“John?” Mrs Hudson asked after a few long moments of silence.

“He’s ah, he’s telling the truth. Once Mycroft has dealt with all the official business we’ll be moving back in here, together if you’ll have us.”

She nodded. “I don’t know what to say to you, it’s just a bit of a shock.” She turned her attention so Sherlock. “It must have been very hard to leave us, to leave him, but for over a year, Sherlock… and to think he’ll just come back and live with you again…. John’s a better man than you deserve.”

John chuckled but it was Sherlock that replied. “That is certainly true, but I wasn’t able to hide from John for more than a few weeks. He’s known for more than a year.”

She turned to John. “What about your friend? - oh - oh - Sherlock, I never thought I’d say this about you but that’s very romantic, coming back to see, John all this time.”

John could feel his face turning red but he just tried his best to smile. It hadn’t been like that, even Sherlock would admit it, but at the same time he didn’t mind the misconception. Only he and Sherlock (and apparently Molly and so at some point Greg) needed to know when things had changed between the two of them and really, they’d been together in one way or another since the day they met.

“And for christmas as well, on boys.” She looked genuinely happy about it but also very much like she was going to cry.

John took Sherlock’s hand on top of the table and linked their fingers together, it had the desired effect and instead of crying Mrs Hudson smiled.

“I’ll make sure everything is ready for you by next week, all those boxes your brother made me keep I’ll move to John’s old room and I’ll leave the rest up to you.”

Sherlock nodded and gave her one of his small smiles.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, dear, but next time you boys make a big announcement let me finish making the tea first.”  
***

After an hour or so of awkward (at least for John) conversation they left Baker street and were heading back to John’s flat.

“You could have corrected her you know, I wouldn’t have minded,” Sherlock told him, once again holding John’s hand now he was back in his casual disguise.

“I know, I just couldn’t see the point. She was so happy about us finally being together that I don’t mind if she thinks we have been for the past year.”

“Even though it’s not true.”

John rolled his eyes. “Yes, Sherlock, just like the Cross Keys hotel, no harm done. We know what really happened and when.”

“Very true.” Sherlock was silent for the rest of the way home and seemed to be thinking about something again. John didn’t ask and so wasn’t surprised when Sherlock started talking the moment they were safely back inside the flat. “But I don’t see how there could be any other ‘big announcements’. I’m certainly not going to leave you again and - “ He looked at John and saw the realisation that he had come to about an hour and a half earlier. “Oh.” He stopped his pacing. “When she was talking about our plans and I mentioned the joint bank account to make everything easier…”

“For a genius you do pick your moments to come down to everyone else's level - even if it’s only about this.”

“She thinks we’re going to….” But Sherlock apparently couldn’t say it.

“Yeah, she does, but not any time soon,” John reassured him - if it could really be called that - Mrs Hudson had said they’d best leave anything ‘official’ until everything calmed down. Sherlock’s reply had been that given most people already thought they were sleeping together he didn’t see the point in acting any differently - or announcing it to the world - John had chosen silence as his answer. But he couldn’t now. “We don’t have to, Sherlock, it’s up to us. Mycroft sorted out all kinds of legal paperwork, remember?” Paperwork that said in all cases of emergency or otherwise they were each others next of kin.

Sherlock just nodded, clearly this particular line of thought had either been dismissed or avoided before and they had been so distracted with everything since Sherlock had arrived that even his massive intellect hadn’t thought to bother with it until now. That and they had already promised each other forever, paperwork seemed unimportant in the face of that.

“But we could, if at some point we wanted to?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes, of course we could,” John told him, feeling somewhat calm about it.

“Good.” Sherlock took hold of John’s hand and looked straight at him and John knew exactly what he was telling him without needing to say a single word. Sherlock kissed him, then straightened up and let go of his hand.

“Tea?” John said at last, heading to the kitchen with Sherlock close behind him.

***  
Greg hadn’t exactly taken the news badly, but his reaction was far from the warmth of Mrs Hudson's. Not that this was surprising given that John and Molly had had to lie to him for well over the past year.

Molly sat there for several minutes, twiddling her fingers and staring at her knees whilst Greg paced back and forth across John’s living room.

John and Sherlock were sat next to each other on the smaller of the two sofa’s. They were sat close but not close enough to betray the current state of their relationship. John was fast beginning to think that maybe the love story angle might have been a better way to break the news (however much of an exaggeration that was) but Sherlock had left that out completely, he hadn’t even mentioned being back in London for the pst year either, he’d just stuck to the facts.

“I swore Molly to secrecy, she had no choice, Lestrade, but to help me. And you couldn’t know - it would have put you in danger and I couldn’t risk either of you,” Sherlock explained. There was no pleading in his tone, but it was kinder than normal.

Molly nodded meekly, but didn’t look up and John’s heart went out to her. Poor girl, no matter how you looked at it she’d been stuck in the middle with no choice.

“Oh I know, I remember your voice recording - in fact, I could probably recite it word for word. And, Molls don’t think for one second that I’m angry at you. He put you up to this and there was nothing else you could have done.” She looked up at him with tears in her eyes but nodded. “But the thing I don’t understand is you, John. He’s been gone for over a year and yet you sit there next to him, like well, like nothing has really changed.”

John laughed, not really meaning to and so it stopped as suddenly as it had started.

“Oh I wouldn’t say that,” he told Lestrade. “But he - ah - hasn’t really been gone for all that long, not for me, only he left that part out.” John sighed and looked to Sherlock.

“What? I thought you would want to tell him.”

“Sherlock…” which explained why he hadn’t mentioned it, he’d designated that ‘John’s’ job.  
“Tell me what, you two? What am I missing?” Greg asked and John looked to Sherlock before looking back to Greg.

“He came back after 5 weeks. Mycroft set me up here for extra security and when I came in he was just here.” He wasn’t going to tell him about the full on body tackle to the ground or restraining Sherlock until he explained himself… or the fact that he had all out sobbed the day after and Sherlock had been the one to hold him until the shaking and the tears had stopped.

“Seriously.” Greg’s eyebrows were raised with one hand to his forehead and the other on his hip. John had seen him like this at many a crime scene and it usually meant he was trying to get his head around whatever Sherlock was saying. It was odd when it was because of something John had said instead and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

“Yes. And he’s been popping back every couple of months or so since.” John wanted to reach out his hand to cover Sherlock’s where it rested on Sherlock’s knee but something told him Greg needed to at least know or figure that part out first - now was not the time. “When my friend Sigerson was visiting it was always Sherlock.”

Greg’s eyes shot back to him, as if he’d finally put that part together. The shock of seeing Sherlock had clearly made him forget the other friend that was apparently staying with John. 

“I had that guy investigated - everything checked ou- Mycroft.” Greg sighed. “Well I suppose it was all for the best… if this Moran character was out there then I can understand the lengths you needed to go to and it’s flattering really, being on the list of important people in your life.” Sherlock glared but Greg ignored him. “And I’m sure whatever lies your brother announces will become the accepted truth but…. This is a lot for one afternoon.” 

He walked back to Molly and placed a hand on her shoulder as he sat down next to her again. “C’mere Molls,” he said gently and put his arms around her as she leaned into him. He whispered something to her and she giggled, clearly feeling better and by the time he released her she was smiling again. “So, anything else you want to tell me?” he asked, casually slipping his arm around Molly’s shoulders. 

She was watching them - or more particularly watching Sherlock as he shifted closer to John and placed his hand on John’s knee. Greg’s eyes shot straight to John’s but he only smiled and wound his and Sherlock’s fingers together in response.

“Well, that’s not entirely unexpected from you two.” He paused, clearly trying to think about what to say, John suspected he was working out the best way of avoiding Sherlock’s disapproval of his reaction. “Congratulations, I mean it, guys.” Sherlock just nodded and John smiled. “But when?” he added, clearly feeling braver.

“This visit, first night of the Olympics,” Sherlock offered and John wondered if they were compromising on who told Greg what and Sherlock had just forgotten to tell him.

“Right, okay, good.” He took a deep breath and squeezed Molly tighter. “Is that everything?”

“Yes,” John told him and Sherlock nodded. Greg would not want the details of their private lives and, although John wanted to ask if Molly was as thorough with their condom choices as she had been with his and Sherlock’s, he thought better of it.

As usual Sherlock seemed to know what he was thinking and he leaned in. “Yes.” It was only just loud enough to hear and he grit his teeth to stifle a laugh.

***  
Mrs Hudson had done as she’d been asked so John and Sherlock returned to a clean and tidy Baker Street. Within the space of one day John had unpacked everything from his flat and Sherlock unpacked what he wanted and so by the end of the evening it looked more or less like it had used to. (Only slightly better organised, at least for the moment).

Sherlock had left his room as bare as possible, choosing to let John deposit his belongings first before putting his newly arrived clothes in their wardrobe then putting some of his things around the place. It had always surprised John now neatly Sherlock kept his bedroom but he was glad of it now.

It all felt that little bit more real, announcements had been made about the apparent circumstances of his disappearance and return but they’d expected that and Sherlock had made sure there would not be a case for a day or two. This was in part to avoid the unnecessary attention of the media but also so that they could settle in together, even if Sherlock had never said so. Reordering their home was, it seemed, as important as a well kept mind palace and needed to be done properly before the work could start again.

Sherlock had bemoaned the loss of his chemistry equipment but John had pointed out that at least this was a good chance to buy newer, better and altogether safer equipment. He’d been glared at and Sherlock’s expressions said something along the lines of ‘spoiling my fun’.

The forms for their joint bank account were signed and sent off via Anthea to the bank earlier that afternoon and Sherlock’s passport had been returned or reinstated, John wasn’t sure which applied in this case. There was a feeling of familiarity to everything within 221b but also a knowledge that this was also new ground.

John walked around the flat at least twice whilst Sherlock fussed over things and he’d even headed up to his old room - just to check there wasn’t anything in there he needed. That was where Sherlock found him a little while later.

“If you wanted us to use this room instead, you could have said something.”

John turned at the voice and smiled, shaking his head as he did so.

“It’s not that, just got a bit caught up in my thoughts. Your - our - room downstairs is a bit bigger than this and probably a lot warmer.”

“True.” Sherlock then stepped towards him. “Lestrade informs me that there is some kind of protocol involved when a new couple move in together and that I should ask you how to go about it.” He rolled his eyes. “He also said we should put Molly’s gift to good use but then didn’t reply when I told him we already had.” The glint in his eyes and the little smile on his face had John wanting to see whatever it was he had told their friend.

“Sherlock?” 

“Oh, I know perfectly well what he’s talking about, but it doesn’t apply to us. As you’ve already pointed out, we were already a couple -just not a romantic or a sexual one - and having sex on every surface of the flat is not in the least bit appealing, not when we have a perfectly good bedroom and a bath.” He was almost smirking now. “Not that Lestrade or Molly need to know that.”

He was close enough to take Sherlock’s hand now so he did. “What did you tell them, Sherlock?”

“I gave them enough clues to come to whatever conclusion they want to, might help to leave little bits of evidence around the flat though.”

John was giggling now and Sherlock dropped his hand to put both of his arms around John. “Thought you’d like that.” He pressed a kiss into John’s hair. “Although this does mean that when Lestrade and Molly move in together we should avoid them for at least a week.”

John chuckled, the motion transferring to Sherlock’s chest. “We should buy them a house warming present, something they can put to good use to return the favour.”  
Sherlock laughed at the suggestion. 

“What do you want to do now?” John asked, knowing there was more to Sherlock coming upstairs than just to see him, though it did make a welcome change to being summoned or shouted at.

“Dinner at Angelo’s.” 

“Candle?” John asked, moving far enough back in Sherlock’s arms to see his face - he was smiling.

“Of course.”

“Alright then, now?”

Sherlock held him tighter for a moment or two then removed his arms and stepped back. “Yes, may as well go early enough to have plenty of time for what I have planned afterwards.” John swallowed and for a moment just looked at him, this appeared to be what he meant when he said ‘perfectly good bedroom’. “Come on.” Sherlock took his hand and started pulling him down the stairs.

***  
They hadn’t sat in the window, given that they weren’t here on a case and probably because it was actually a date this time and they wanted a little privacy. They were instead sat towards the back in a private booth with a very large candle burning slowly between them. (Angelo had been practically beaming when he placed it in front of them, lighting it with a flourish of his hand once he laid it on the table).

They ate, well John did and Sherlock picked at his food and ate the occasional forkful and they talked quietly with their legs resting against each others underneath the table. Every now and again, when things went quiet between them, John would find himself just watching Sherlock. He didn’t seem to mind or make any comment about it and for that John was grateful. Part of him still wasn’t completely used to Sherlock being out in the real world with him and another part just wanted to get them both back to Baker street and into their new bedroom.

Sherlock dropped his fork, clearly having decided he was finished and put his hand on top of John’s across the small table.  
“We at least have to stay for dessert,” he told John, his eyebrows were raised and he was smirking, because of course it was written all over John’s face, of course it was.  
“Not like you to care about etiquette,” John replied, turning his hand so that his and Sherlock’s were resting palm to fingers.

“I don’t, but….” He looked away for a moment before turning back to John. “I am reliably informed it’s custom to stay for desert, then we go home and enjoy the rest of the evening.” The smile on Sherlock’s lips was slight, but it was there and like almost all of his smiles over the past few weeks, it was genuine and aimed at John.

“Still though, we really don’t have to, not if you don’t want to,” John told him softly.

“I know.”  
***  
Morning light streamed through the thin curtains and John woke to it coming in from a different direction than he was used to. Sherlock was warm and curled around him from behind, breath blowing over John’s neck in time with the motion of Sherlock’s chest pressed against him.

John turned around in Sherlock’s hold and put his arm around his back to pull him close in return. Tomorrow they could be woken by a case or Sherlock would start a series of experiments instead. He was sure that they would have more moments like these in the future but this was special, almost like the last day of a holiday and he wanted to enjoy it while he could.

“I’m still not getting out of bed for anything less than a seven, not even today,” Sherlock told him, his voice groggy but he was clearly awake. “And neither are you.”

“Really? Why?” That surprised him.

“Compromising, it’s your turn.”

John laughed. “That isn’t how it works.” Sherlock huffed in his ear. “Not that I’m complaining,” John added and moved his hand down to the base of Sherlock’s spine to pull him closer. “But you at least have to let me get my laptop at some point.”

Sherlock grinned. “It’s underneath the bed, I wanted to check the website but aside from a lot of ‘welcome back’ messages there was nothing even remotely interesting.” He was fiddling with the waist band of John’s pyjama bottoms as he spoke. “You’ve already written your blog entry about all of this so I don’t see why you need it. I’ve got much more interesting things planned.”

John was going to tell him that if he wasn’t going to be working at the surgery anymore then he would need the laptop to work on his book. But he didn’t bother, Sherlock would likely have a counter argument for that too.

“I keep expecting your phone to ring,” John admitted after a while, rubbing his nose against Sherlock’s.

“It won’t and even if it does, we’re hardly going to be needed straight away.” Sherlock’s hand was now cupping John’s arse underneath his boxer shorts and he rocked forwards automatically.

“What if there’s a series of locked room murders and a serial killer?” John asked, kissing Sherlock.

“It will wait an hour,” Sherlock told him then rolled them over so that John was on his back and Sherlock was framed with the light from the window behind him. He looked beautiful and contented, the sort of happiness that a good case could give him was shining just underneath the surface and John felt his heart soar. 

So, he kissed him, gentle at first, holding Sherlock’s head at just the right angle and running his tongue across Sherlock’s lips until they parted. They kissed each other deep and slow, Sherlock understanding John’s unspoken intent and replying in kind.

Sherlock hummed in approval when the kiss ended and they broke for air. He didn’t move far - his forehead was resting against John’s.

“Nothing less than an eight,” he breathed and John smiled, a small laugh escaping him before Sherlock’s mouth met his again.  
***

_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again much thanks and love to **4theloveoftea (wordygeek)** for pushing me to write this (gently) and for betaing it for me. Thank you also to all those who left Kudos and comments, i love hearing what people think.


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